


Alternate Collection

by Error401



Category: EXO (Band), Monsta X (Band), VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Death, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Violence, archived here but can also be read on my tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 34,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error401/pseuds/Error401
Summary: A variety of pairings, plots, and lengths from prompts sent to me on tumblr. The pairing and prompt are in the chapter titles, so you can skip what you're not interested in.*Previously titled 'Error401's Ficlet Archive'





	1. Can't Get Out (MinJoon)

Jimin sighed as the alarm sounded, piercing the stillness of the morning.

At least, he assumed it was morning. It was hard to tell anymore. His room didn’t have a window. The curtains were perpetually drawn throughout the remainder of the estate. The master was a paranoid man, though with several attempts made on his life, he had reason to fear the outside.

It could be mid-afternoon, but it wouldn’t matter. He lived and died by the alarm.

He’d lain awake in bed for the past several hours, reveling in the time he was able to either think about nothing or have the luxury of entertaining his own thoughts.

He stumbled clumsily to his feet, the overhead sensor causing the light to flicker on, momentarily blinding him with white fluorescence.

He pulled on clothes, the same replicated set of clothes he wore every day, and ran his hand tiredly through his hair. He would surely be scolded for looking tired and worn. For looking anything less than perfect.

The door slid open, but Jimin didn’t turn to see who it was. He already knew who it was.

“Breakfast, young master,” the robotic voice stated quietly. A thunk. The slide of a metal tray against the old wood of his desk.

“Thank you,” Jimin mumbled in reply, body on autopilot. He frowned when he failed to hear the door close once again.

“The master commands that you visit his office once you are finished eating,” the voice said.

“Alright,” Jimin said, heart sinking into the empty chasm of his stomach that he had no desire to fill. “I will go now.”

He stepped into the hallway, shoulders curling inward to shield himself from the looks and the whispers and the coldness of his household. They feared him because they thought he had power. They hated him for the same. But in truth, he had nothing. He had orders. He had directives. He held not an ounce of power.

He stepped into the office, sighing at the heavy presence of chrome and metal that always made him feel stifled and on edge.

“Jimin,” his father’s gruff voice commanded. “Come.”

Jimin did as he was told, shuffling closer to his father’s massive workspace, eyes flitting to the stranger occupying a chair across from his father. “Sir,” Jimin said lowly, dipping his head in submission.

“This is your new teacher,” his father said.

Jimin glanced up in surprise. After the last one, he wasn’t sure his father would be willing to employ another. He had resigned himself to computer screens and self-study for the next decade.

“Park Jimin,” the unknown man said, rising from his seat and nearly tripping over the leg of the chair. His face flushed with genuine embarrassment, but also a warmth that Jimin had not seen for a very long time.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“It is time you got to work,” Jimin’s father said, his tone holding a warning. “Make yourself more presentable.”

“Yes, master,” Jimin agreed softly.

“Show him,” Jimin’s father said, already turning back to the work spread across his desk.

Jimin ducked his head once more, turning from the room. He could feel his new teacher’s eyes on his back as the man followed behind him. They climbed two flights of marble steps before Jimin reached out to push open the door to his lecture hall.

“Woah,” the man whispered, taking in the arched ceiling, the multiple viewing screens, the physical books and the database of their electronic counterparts. “This is something.”

Jimin said nothing in reply, instead taking his seat at the only work table in the room.

“My name is Kim Namjoon,” the man offered, seeming confused by Jimin’s behavior. Jimin didn’t know what he expected, but surely his father had discussed everything with this man before deciding to employ him.

“Yes, sir,” Jimin said, trying to avoid playing with his fingers as he stared down at the tabletop.

“Hey,” Namjoon said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on the top of Jimin’s arm.

Jimin startled, eyes widening as he flinched away from the touch. It had been so long since anyone touched him with affection. Since anyone touched him at all.

“Whoah, hey, Jimin,” Namjoon said, placating. “I’m sorry about that. I just want you to know that I’m here to help you. I can’t teach you if you won’t even look at me.”

“Oh,” Jimin said. “My apologies, sir. The last professor preferred that I not look at him. I will correct my behavior.” Namjoon was a tall, broad man in comparison to his slighter form. Unlike Jimin’s, his skin looked like it had seen the sun. Jimin had forgotten what that felt like.

“Well, that’s stupid,” Namjoon snorted. “I can see why he was fired.”

“He died,” Jimin said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “He tried to kill me.” Jimin assumed that was the reason why the man never wanted Jimin to look at him. “I suspect, having failed to get to my fath…the master…he decided that I would be the next best target.”

Namjoon blinked down at him in disbelief. “Ugh…well, if it makes you feel any better, I have no plans to kill you,” Namjoon said wryly.

Jimin smiled sadly. “That’s a shame. I would not stop you. If you are approached by someone with such an offer, I would not begrudge you for accepting it. I know that people would be willing to pay a lot to get rid of him. Of me.”

“What…” Namjoon frowned, shaking his head. “Why do you speak like that?”

“I am tired, professor,” Jimin said quietly, feeling immense relief at finally saying it out loud. “Living like this…it aches. It aches deep inside. But I cannot die. He just has someone fix me. Even when I think myself beyond repair, I am fixed. And then I wake up, and I do it all over again. I can’t get out. He will not let me. And so I do not fear death. I do not fear pain. I only fear forever…in this place.”

Namjoon’s gaze hardened as he dropped to one knee, placing his hands on top of Jimin’s legs. The contact was a searing heat against Jimin’s skin, unexpected and blazing and foreign. But not unwelcome. “Jimin, you have so much to live for. I promise you that things will get better. I swear it.”

As Jimin looked into his eyes, he saw something he’d never seen before in anyone on the estate. An unwavering determination.

Glancing down at Namjoon’s hands, a brief scroll of black rolled over the surface of his skin. The resistance. Jimin’s eyes widened, and his breath quickened. “Why do you not kill me?” Jimin whispered.

Namjoon’s eyes softened. “Because you do not deserve it, Jimin.”

“How…how are you here?” Jimin said.

“I know some great forgers,” Namjoon winked. “Listen, the only thing we have to do is keep having lessons. That’s all, Jimin. You just have to let me teach you, like you normally would. Think you can handle that?”

“And then what?” Jimin asked fearfully. “He will destroy you. He will make it so that you never existed.”

“I already don’t exist,” Namjoon smiled warmly. He pulled a sheaf of papers from inside his coat pocket, tossing them in front of Jimin. “This is a test. It’ll help me figure out what you know.”

“You…are serious?” Jimin said.

“You have an hour,” Namjoon said, glancing down at his watch. “Go ahead and get started.”

Jimin could not disobey a direct order. Hands shaking, he started to read.


	2. And the sky fell (sugakookie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: death

Seokjin and Hoseok had died in the first week.  

It was a freak accident, more than anything else. Something was wrong with the car, and then…

At least they never had to see the others turn.

Taehyung was bitten first. He hadn’t even realized that it happened, thought it was just a scratch. He got sicker and sicker until he turned, late one night. That was how Jimin died, eaten in his sleep by his best friend. Maybe some part of Taehyung was still aware, because he made sure he was dead before taking the second and third bites.

Yoongi was the one who’d found them in the morning. What was left of them. Taehyung still gnawing away, the floor soaked in blood and viscera. He’d been the one to kill Taehyung. No. The thing that was using Taehyung’s body.

Yoongi allowed himself a mere five minutes of earth-shattering grief before forcing the rest of them to move on.

Jungkook thought for sure that Namjoon would make it. He couldn’t imagine them surviving without Namjoon’s quick thinking. But Namjoon had quickly thought to throw himself into the horde in order to make sure Jungkook and Yoongi made it out.

Sometimes, Jungkook wished he hadn’t done that. That he had just let them all die. At least they’d be together, somewhere.

Then again, he was finding it harder and harder to believe in an afterlife as the earth was taken over by the dead.

“Here,” Yoongi grunted, tossing him a can of soup. “Eat up.”

“I’m—“ Jungkook said.

“I don’t care if you’re not hungry, you’re eating even if I have to shove it down your throat,” Yoongi said, viciously popping the top off of his own can. Before everything, Jungkook wouldn’t have thought it was possible for Yoongi to get any skinnier. But now, now he was just a walking skeleton. “Maybe they won’t chase me if I don’t have any meat,” Yoongi had joked.

“Okay, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, wanting to cry. Wanting to scream. Wanting to give up. But he knew Yoongi was only living for his sake, and so he felt the incessant need to do the same.

Yoongi sighed, running a hand over his dirty face. “I’m not…I don’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know, hyung,” Jungkook said. “I know.” He was finding it incredibly difficult to do anything. To speak, to eat. He just wanted to shut down.

Before Jungkook knew what was happening, tears were slipping down Yoongi’s pale face, mixing in with the dirt and sweat to drip onto the hardwood floor of the house they’d broken into for the night. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me, I…” Yoongi choked. “I wish it had been me instead of them. What good can I do?”

“No, hyung, no,” Jungkook said, his own eyes watering as he moved to sit next to Yoongi, arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. “They loved us, hyung, just as much as we loved them. They would want us to keep going.” Jungkook paused, chewing at his lip as he thought of what to say. Whether he should say it. “I know you loved him, hyung. It must have been…so hard…” he trailed off, sniffling. “But he would want you to keep going, too.”

“I can’t do this without you, Kookie,” Yoongi admitted, clutching at Jungkook’s back. “You can’t die, okay? I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you die.”

“That sounds counterproductive, hyung,” Jungkook huffed.

Yoongi stiffened. “Quiet.”

Jungkook held his breath as they listened, a faint scraping noise brushing against the side of the house. A moment later and it was gone. Jungkook sighed, heart pounding. “Probably just a rat or something, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathed. “But you know those fuckers always have a way of sniffing us out when we least expect it.”

“…I hate them so much,” Jungkook whimpered, curling into Yoongi’s side. “They’ve taken everything, but they…they just eat! They just eat and they don’t stop and I hate them!”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said tiredly, combing a hand through Jungkook’s long, matted hair. “So our best revenge will be to just keep living, yeah? Make sure they stay hungry and empty.”

“If anyone’s good at living purely out of spite, it’s definitely you, hyung,” Jungkook offered Yoongi a timid smile.

“Fuck you,” Yoongi muttered, flicking the dregs of his soup at Jungkook’s face.


	3. Please, wake up (Yoonmin)

Jimin didn’t know how long it had been since they’d shoved him inside the freezer. An hour? Two? A day? His fingers had been painfully cold, but now they were nothing at all. Just limp, stubby ice blocks.

He curled into the smallest position he possibly could, shoving his hands under his armpits and his head between his knees to press his ears to his thighs. That was all he could do until Yoongi came for him. _If_ Yoongi came for him. They hadn’t been on very good terms as of late, so there was no guarantee that he would even respond to a ransom demand.

It was over the stupidest of things.

Jimin wasn’t ready to move in yet, and Yoongi had freaked.

Yoongi hated anything to do with saying emotions out loud. He expected Jimin to be a mind reader. So when he’d sprung it on Jimin in the middle of breakfast, he’d gotten angry when Jimin acted surprised and uncertain. _Was_ surprised and uncertain. Because, in all fairness, Jimin wasn’t a mind reader and hadn’t seen it coming.

Now, Jimin would be happy to be moving anywhere that wasn’t the inside of an industrial meat locker.

He didn’t make much money, but money had never been what he was after. He wanted the stage, the lights, the applause. If he was being honest with himself, the validation.

Yoongi made a lot of money, but he threw it away just as fast as he earned it. He liked investing in new talent, dragging people kicking and screaming from the streets and into his studios if he thought they had an ounce of potential. That tended to make some people angry. Not the people he was helping, but the people he was helping them get away from.

Jimin knew Hoseok avoided his old haunts like the plague, Namjoon didn’t go outside past seven P.M., and Jungkook still startled at loud noises and distant curse words.

Yoongi wasn’t afraid of most things. If anything, his worst fear was probably himself. Of failing. These were the kinds of things Jimin didn’t have to be a mind reader to figure out.

Jimin huffed, burrowing deeper into his arms as everything quaked violently.

It was all so stupid.

Min Yoongi was a stupid idiot, and Jimin was an even bigger idiot for loving him.

And because Min Yoongi was an idiot who didn’t save his money, Jimin was probably never getting out of the meat locker, even if by some miracle he did show up.

It was getting more difficult to think as his eyelids grew heavy, limbs starting to feel strangely floaty and warm despite the cold. At least his blood was so frozen that his head had stopped bleeding where it had struck the floor when he was thrown inside.

Taehyung would be really mad if Jimin froze to death. Jimin knew of at least two distinct betting pools where Taehyung had all his money on “tripping and falling off stage” as his manner of death. He wasn’t the most graceful of people off stage, but he was insulted at the insinuation that he could fuck up a performance _that_ badly.

Jimin really just wanted to be wrapped in Yoongi’s infuriatingly bony arms, because at least Yoongi’s coldness wouldn’t give him actual frostbite.

Jimin used to think that he and Yoongi would never get along. He thought the man was too taciturn, too shy, too negative, too something that Jimin couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, he was certain that they couldn’t be friends.

Two weeks later, they were dating.

Jimin was sure he’d been tricked.

But then he saw Yoongi’s gummy smile, the way he pretended not to care but secretly solved everyone’s problems, the dedication that he put into his craft that was just as ferocious as Jimin put into his own.

And now he was stuck in a freezer, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he knew that was bad, but there was nothing he could really do about it.

There was never anything he could do about the two big, burly men who’d escorted him from his studio and then into the back of a van and then into a sketchy kitchen. He didn’t know who they were, and he could barely understand the heavily-accented Korean, but he had a strong feeling that the kidnapping wasn’t a random one.

Would Yoongi actually show up?

Was he _that_ pissed that Jimin said he would have to think about it first?

What an ass.

Something loud clanged, the squeal of metal echoing through the small room. Jimin heard it, but he wasn’t able to react to it, his head stuck between his knees and his hands under his armpits.

“Jimin? Jimin, holy shit,” Yoongi muttered, hands patting up and down Jimin’s frigid body. “Oh fuck, Jimin? Jimin?!”

Jimin wanted to lift his head, but it seemed as though everything was actually frozen where it already rested.

“Please, Jimin…please, wake up,” Yoongi coaxed, hands shaking as they felt for something on Jimin’s skin. “Okay, you have a pulse. That’s good. That’s—fuck—“

“Oh, for—“ Jin huffed, and Jimin could hear the eye roll in his voice. “Come on, we have to get him outside. Hurry up!”

“Hnng,” Jimin was able to groan, wanting to make sure that they knew he was alive at least a little bit. He knew someone was touching him from the pressure, but he couldn’t actually feel any of it.

“Call for an ambulance,” Jin ordered someone once they were in the light of the kitchen, Jimin leaning back against the grimy tile, head still in the same place. “If he’s got hypothermia, then warming him up too fast will cause problems.” Jin slipped his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around Jimin as best as he could.

“Min,” Yoongi frowned, wanting to help but not knowing how. “Say something, please. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“F-f-fucking c-c-cold,” Jimin managed. “Y-y-you’re l-late, hy-hyung.”

What an ass.


	4. I'm Done Waiting (HyukBin)

Hongbin had the nastiest habit of being shy.

Not the usual cute, bashful shy, but the “run full speed in the opposite direction from whatever thing is making you shy” shy.

Sometimes he just wanted to curl up in a corner and die of embarrassment. He probably would have done so already had Hakyeon not continually and forcefully dragged him out of it. He both hated and loved his hyung for that at the same time.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew he got attention just because he had a nice-looking face, but it wasn’t his fault he was born looking a certain way. So he was tall, and he was handsome, but he had the temperament of a little girl sometimes. He hated the shocked look that occasionally appeared when people realized that he wasn’t the “cool” guy they thought he was.

He _hated_ it.

But maybe, it was even more shocking when someone never thought he was cool to begin with.

“Hey, can you move, please?” someone said. Hongbin jumped, looking up from where he’d been chewing at his pen on a bench in the park.

“Umm?” Hongbin said, bewildered, looking around at the empty benches a few feet away.

“This is my bench,” the tall young man insisted, ducking his head slightly.

“Okay?” Hongbin said, gathering his textbook and notebook into his arms and sliding onto another free bench.

“Thanks,” the stranger grinned happily, plopping down onto the seat.

Hongbin just knew that his face was scarlet, both from the awkwardness swimming around in his chest and the realization that the other man was very broad and very cute at the same time. Even over the fact that he’d kicked Hongbin out of his spot for no reason.

“Hey,” the other man said. The cute other man.

“Y-yeah?” Hongbin stuttered, pen slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground.

“This is the best spot to watch the sun set,” he supplied. “No one has ever been here when I have. I didn’t mean to sound mean. Wonshik hyung says people who don’t know me might think I’m scary because I’m pretty big, but I’m not really. Umm. But you’re kinda’ big too, so…” he trailed off, cheeks pink.

Hongbin barely contained the noise that wanted to escape his mouth, clamping his jaw tightly together. His face was probably on fire. He was going to die. “Umm,” he said. “No problem. I was just…homework,” he gestured vaguely. He reached down to pick up his pen, but another large hand met his there, fingers brushing against his. He was really going to die.

“Oops, sorry!” the other man said, face bright. “What are you working on? Do you go to school around here?”

“Umm,” Hongbin said.

“I go to the technical school a few blocks that way,” the man pointed. “I like working with my hands on pretty much anything. Do you come to this park often? Your face kinda’ looks familiar.”

“ _Umm_ ,” Hongbin swallowed, eyes flitting to the man’s hands. He should just say that they went to the same school. He should just…open his mouth…and just…just say…“I have to go!” he barked, collecting his things and speed-walking down the park path. Oh no, oh no, oh no. So embarrassing. He was so embarrassing.

“Binnie?” Hakyeon questioned, snapping Hongbin out of his vicious cycle of replaying memories over and over again in his head. Particularly, the one where he ran away from a cute man who just being friendly. “What’s up with you? Are you sick or something?”

“Or maybe just _heartsick_?” Jaehwan teased, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Hakyeon rolled his eyes.

“Umm,” Hongbin said. “No, there…I mean…there was just…somebody.”

Hakyeon’s eyebrows practically met his hairline. “ _What_?”

“I don’t even know his name!” Hongbin said hurriedly. “He was just…”

“Just?” Jaehwan prodded, resting his chin on top of his fist. “Come on! Spill!”

“Just nice…I guess…” Hongbin trailed off. But that wasn’t even really true, was it? Hongbin had no idea if he was nice or not.

“Hey!” someone practically shouted.

Hongbin, Hakyeon, an Jaehwan turned to glance at the doorway of the art room.

Hongbin was going to die.

“I _knew_ your face looked familiar!” the boy said, stepping into the room and waving a pen in the air.

Hongbin’s pen.

“I was getting really tired of waiting for you to come back for this, so I decided to look around a little. Turns out, you’re kind of well known around here.”

Hongbin was still stuck on how small the pen looked in the man’s giant hand.

“Th-thanks, you didn’t have to,” Hongbin stuttered, accepting the pen, making sure their skin didn’t brush this time.

“Han Sanghyuk?” Jaehwan’s lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “Long time no see!”

“Since I beat you at high jump in high school, hyung?” Sanghyuk grinned.

Jaehwan clutched a dramatic hand to his chest. “And now you’re here stealing pens from my dongsaengs? Will the horror never end?”

“I didn’t steal it!” Sanghyuk whined, lips protruding in a semblance of a pout. “He ran away!” He pointed accusatorily at Hongbin. “And then he didn’t come back even though I went there every day at the same time!”

“Umm,” Hongbin swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Sorry…?”

“Every day, huh?” Jaehwan said.

“Shut up!” Hakyeon hissed, elbowing Jaehwan in the side. “We’re gonna’ go…over here…” Hakyeon said unsubtly.

“Thanks…again…” Hongbin managed, face hot.

“No problem,” Sanghyuk shook his head. “I was willing to wait for you.”

“Oh,” Hongbin blinked. “ _Oh_.”

“But now I’m done waiting,” Sanghyuk winked. “So…you come here often?”

Hongbin was going to die.


	5. Tie You Down (JinMin)

They’d married young, but they’d been promised to each other even before they were born.

Seokjin had more time to be hostile about it than Jimin did, a few extra years of internalized rage hidden by polite smiles and discussions of the weather. Even with the knowledge that neither of them had a choice, he couldn’t suppress the urge to be petty and mean to Jimin as soon as he’d reached his teen years.

Seokjin had never thought of himself as a mean person. He was generally in a good mood, had a positive outlook on things, especially liked things that were pink and cute. Had a soft spot for his charming dongsaeng, who liked to have tea parties on Seokjin’s kitchen table.

He was first told of the arrangement on his thirteenth birthday, when Jimin was still a chubby-cheeked ten year old and knew nothing at all. Didn’t know why his hyung seemed to hate him all of a sudden. Spent so much time trying to make up for something that had never been his fault to begin with.

But Seokjin was only human, and he was a child himself.

Maybe his parents had thought that telling him would make him more protective over Jimin. Whatever their intentions, it had the opposite effect.

And so Seokjin had to watch Jimin cry during the ceremony, blubbering loudly as tears dripped down his cheeks, devastation in his eyes as he sought out someone in the congregation to help him. To save him. Seokjin had been screaming that for five years, and he already knew that no one would answer the call.

Jimin was afraid of him. Seokjin knew that. Seokjin was nineteen, and Jimin only sixteen. He had no idea how to run a household, cook or clean the right way, be a husband. Seokjin didn’t know how to do any of those things either.

Not to mention, Jimin was in love with someone else.

Seokjin had no right to hate him for that.

“Jimin,” Seokjin had said as they arrived in their new home, a luxury apartment that Jimin’s parents had bought for them. It came out harsher than he intended, and Jimin flinched, practically shaking where he stood in the entryway, clutching his bag to his chest.

“Yes, hyung?” he whispered, head lowered in fear and anticipation.

“Let’s just…go to sleep, okay? I’ll take the guest room.”

Jimin’s red, swollen eyes blinked at him in surprise. “Okay, hyung.”

As Jimin turned to do as he said, Jin sighed. “Jimin, I’m not a monster, okay? You don’t need to act so worried all the time. We’re in this together now, after all. Might as well…make the best of it.” He was getting so tired of being angry and bitter all the time.

“I’ll…try…” Jimin said sadly. That was all Seokjin could ask.

To his credit, Jimin did try. He was nice and polite, he did his best to stay out of Jin’s way as Jin attended classes at his university and Jimin went to high school. It was like they weren’t even married.

It was like they weren’t even married.

So why was Jin so bothered?

Perhaps it was because Jimin had been acting so distant lately, avoiding his gaze and leaving the room when he entered it. Jin had thought their relationship was at least getting slightly better, once Jimin seemed to stop worrying that Jin would try to consummate the marriage.

“Jimin?” Jin asked as they sat down to eat the breakfast the maid had prepared for them.

“Yes, hyung?” Jimin said quietly, destroying the omelet in front of him with his chopsticks.

“Is everything okay?” Jin pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. No matter how he felt about this marriage, Jimin was now legally his responsibility. “Your face is all pinched. You’re gonna’ get wrinkles.”

Jimin’s mouth opened in surprise. “O-of course, hyung,” he answered hastily.

Too hastily.

Seokjin narrowed his eyes.

“Jimin,” Seokjin said in warning, frowning at the feat that flashed in Jimin’s eyes. Was Jimin still afraid of him, even after months of living together? Jin had never physically hurt him, but it would take more than his fingers and toes to count the number of times he’d made Jimin cry when they were younger. “You can tell me. I’ll help you if I can. I know we’re stuck like this, but we’re still a team now.”

Jimin smiled sadly, setting his chopsticks down. “You can’t…help with this, hyung. Besides, I don’t want to make you mad. Can’t you just pretend you didn’t notice?”

“Okay, well now you _have_ to tell me,” Jin tried to offer him a reassuring smile. It probably came out more like a grimace.

Jimin sighed. “Kookie’s leaving.”

Seokjin blinked. “Oh…Jeon?” The boy that Jimin was really in love with. Seokjin’s chest tightened.

“Yeah…” Jimin mumbled. “He’s moving. To America.” Jimin sniffled, and then it was like the floodgates had opened, tears pouring down his cheeks and reminding Jin of their wedding night.  “I-I’m sorry,” he choked, wiping at his face. “It’s just—I know you never wanted to marry me. I mean, who would? I know I’m not good enough for you, hyung. Kookie was just…he made me feel _normal_ , you know? And I…I…”

“Jimin, don’t talk about yourself that way…” Jin said, concerned. Was that what Jimin had thought? That Jin didn’t want to marry him because he wasn’t good enough?

“But it’s true!” Jimin cried. “I’m just tying you down! You could do anything you wanted, but you’re stuck here taking care of me! I can’t even do anything on my own—“

“That’s because you’re sixteen years old, Jimin!” Jin said angrily. “I never expected you to know how to do everything! No one expected that!”

“But I’m supposed to! I’m supposed to be good enough! And I’m just… _not_. And one day you’re going to leave and find someone better, and—”

“Jimin,” Jin said uncertainly. He had no idea that Jimin felt this way. “I would never leave you. I…I was horrible to you when I found out we were going to be married, but…it was never really you I was mad at. You’ll always be my cute dongsaeng. I was mad at my parents. At my lack of options. But I took it out on you, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that.”

“R-really?” Jimin said. “You don’t…hate me?” Jimin said, tears still flowing. Seokjin wanted to cry himself at how heartbreaking the look on Jimin’s face was. And really, this whole thing was his fault. Instead of being an adult, he’d acted like a big baby and thrown a six-year tantrum.

“Never,” Jin said sincerely. “And I know I’m not Jungkook, but…I’m going to try harder to show you. Like I said before, we’re a team.  I care about you so much, that’s not a lie. I just…I was selfish. I didn’t want to be told what to do. But because of that, I made you so unhappy. Well, from now on I’ll do my best to make up for it.”

“Do you think we could go back to how things used to be?” Jimin asked sadly. “That’s all I really want, hyung.”

“Tea parties in the kitchen?” Jin said lightly, huffing in amusement. “Sounds good, Jiminnie.”


	6. I simply adore you (KenVi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Prostitution

Wonshik tossed his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding his heel to make sure it was out. In truth, he hated smoking, but it was the best way to blend in when he was working undercover in seedy places.

It gave him an excuse to be outside the bar where he was acting as a bouncer and local enforcer for the neighborhood dealer, keep an eye on the comings and goings in the area.

“Back again, Ravi?” a teasing voice questioned. “I’m starting to think you’ve fallen for little old me.”

“Ken,” Wonshik grunted, nodding his head at the barely dressed man who was making an effort show off his assets in front of the detective. Wonshik was a hundred percent sure that it wasn’t his real name, but he had no material reason to learn the real one. “Long night?”

“Oh, nothing more exciting than the usual,” the man fluttered his long lashes. “Why, are you worried about me?”

Wonshik huffed in amusement, eyes flitting to the long slit in the other man’s shirt that showcased muscled, lightly tanned skin. The hint of a dark purple bruise. “Nah, I figure you can take care of yourself, darlin’.”

Ken grinned, smile nearly blinding as he sidled even closer to Wonshik where he leaned against a building. It was anachronistically innocent, a smile like that in a place like this. “I love it when you talk all sweet with that deep voice of yours.”

“I bet you’d love it just as much if I talked dirty,” Wonshik said wryly.

“You know me so well, Ravi,” Ken laughed, waving his hands around. “I really wish you would come around more often. Then again, that scary face of yours probably scares a lot of my customers away.”

To be fair, that was sometimes his intention.

Something Wonshik had noticed about Ken was that he was always in motion, practically vibrating with excess energy. At first, he’d assumed it was drugs. But he came to realize that Ken was just an over-excited person by nature. Far too bright for his shitty lot in life.

“Was someone rough with you?” Wonshik couldn’t help but ask, fingers toying with his belt loops to avoid the habit of resting his hand on his holster. Even if he was pretending to be a bad guy, bad guys could still care about the people in their territory. That was the excuse he had ready on his tongue, anyway. “It’s hard to miss that bruise.”

Ken’s smile wavered before he plastered it perfectly back into place. “Nothing they didn’t pay for,” Ken waved away.

“That’s not what I asked,” Wonshik sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets before he could ball them into fists.

“You don’t really want an answer,” Ken sighed. “What could you do, anyway? It’s sweet, but…don’t pretend you’d risk anything for me. We both know you won’t.”

Wonshik winced at the bite of the words. He wouldn’t, but only because he needed to maintain his cover. When he was free to do as he pleased, then maybe…maybe what? He lived out some hero complex fantasy involving saving the local prostitute from his horrible fate?

“Anyway,” Ken said, rolling his shoulders, his collar bones rippling under his skin. “Break over! Back to work! Let’s get it started in here!”

“Wait,” Wonshik said lowly.

“Hmm?” Ken said, looking over his shoulder. “You want to buy some time, Mr. Ravi?” It was almost painful, the bit of hope in his voice.

Wonshik snorted. “We both know I can’t afford you.” Pulling a pen from his pocket, he reached for Ken’s arm, scrawling a number messily over his soft skin. “Call me. If someone tries something they didn’t pay for. I’ll come.”

Ken stared at the number for a few moments, eyes widening. “Is this real?”

“What kind of a fucking question is that?” Wonshik said.

“Well, excuse me!” Ken said, pressing a long-fingered hand to his chest. “I normally only get phone numbers for one reason, you know! And that reason is not to hear my extensive and impressive catalogue of animal noise impressions!”

“There was something like that?” Wonshik laughed. “You’ll have to show me some time.”

“Oh,” Ken ducked his head, face flushing. “Okay. If you want. We could…get coffee?”

Wonshik sighed. This was dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. He shouldn’t get involved. He couldn’t get involved. Stupid hero-complex instincts were trying to get him killed. “Sure, Ken,” Wonshik agreed stupidly. “Coffee sounds great.”

Ken practically squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, animated face beaming with happiness. He stopped suddenly, coughing into his hand. “Yeah, ugh, good. Well. I should go.”

Wonshik frowned, but knew that there was truly nothing he could do. Ken needed to work, or he would get in trouble. If he got in trouble, even Wonshik couldn’t protect him. “Stay safe.”

Before he could react, Ken was bouncing into his personal space, reaching a hand up to rest against Wonshik’s chest. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one left who cares,” Ken said softly, expression unusually blank and deliberating. “Thanks…for that…It helps, knowing that someone…would care if I didn’t turn up for a few days.”

“It’s not hard to care about you,” Wonshik answered gruffly, fighting to keep his hands where they were.

Ken smiled his bright smile again, turning away from Wonshik and trudging down the dimly-lit street. “Jaehwan,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Wonshik said.

“My name. Jaehwan.”

“Oh,” Wonshik said, surprised. “It suits you.”

Ken—Jaehwan stopped walking, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Offering Wonshik a cheeky smile, he suddenly shouted, “Kim Ravi is the best! Jjang! Awesome!” Laughing at the startled look on Wonshik’s face, he lowered his voice. “I simply adore you, you know? You stay safe too. I need you to stay safe.”

Before Wonshik could formulate a response, he was gone.


	7. Carry Me (NHyuk/ChaSang)

He was recruited to the basketball team the second he’d stepped foot on campus. In the team’s defense, they had no idea he spent more time stumbling over his long legs than using them to his advantage.

He’d hit his growth spurt late in high school and was still trying to adjust to becoming a practical giant overnight. He couldn’t even hold a coffee cup the right way anymore.

“Catch!” Jaehwan screamed, but before Sanghyuk had a chance to completely turn, a basketball was already headed straight for his face. He closed his eyes, wincing away from impact, only to have a hand reach out and catch the flying ball with a loud thunk against its palm.

“Yah, Lee Jaehwan!” Hakyeon growled.

“Oh crap,” Jaehwan blanched, turning tail so fast his sneakers screeched against the gym floor. It was a good thing practice was over, otherwise he’d be running suicides for the next three hours.

“Tch,” Hakyeon shook his head. “You okay, Hyuk-ah?” he asked, a gentle smile replacing the seething glare.

Sanghyuk shivered at the one eighty in temperament. Cha Hakyeon was the best captain the basketball team could have, but at the same time, he was also the worst.

The best because he was the best at basketball. The worst because he was also the best at acting like their mom.

Sanghyuk didn’t need a _second_ overbearing mother.

“Mmm,” Hyuk nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yah, Kim Taekwoon, stop eating!” Hakyeon suddenly yelled, rushing over to their power forward, who was nonchalantly shoving chips into his mouth.

“Hungry,” Taekwoon said in his uncharacteristically gentle voice.

“Then eat celery! We have a game next week! We need to be in good shape!” Hakyeon scolded.

Taekwoon shrugged, uncaring, as he finished off the bag.

Hyuk grabbed the nearest basketball and dribbled onto the court, face screwed up in concentration. As the center, he had the least amount of contact with the ball, but that didn’t mean he could slack off and let himself fall onto his face.

“Gotcha!” Wonshik said, startling him as he stole the ball out from under him.

Hyuk sighed, rolling his eyes as Wonshik ran in for a layup.

“Congrats hyung, you won the game that we weren’t even playing,” Hyuk said under his breath.

“What was that?” Wonshik challenged, eyebrow quirked.

Hyuk sighed. “I’ll defend if you want to attack.”

They practiced amongst themselves as the rest of the team filtered into the locker rooms, changing to go home. “You two should head home,” Hakyeon said, wrestling to pull a candy bar from Taekwoon’s unwilling hands. “Make sure to get lots of rest for tomorrow!”

Hyuk ducked his head and made his way to the locker room, forgoing a shower in favor of getting home quickly. Everyone else had already left, and the silence of the locker room was putting him on edge.

As he pushed open the door to leave, he noticed a faint light from one of the sports offices. He was a scaredy cat, but he was also a really curious one.

“Hyung?” Hyuk said, surprised, as he peered into the open door to see Hakyeon staring intently at a whiteboard covered in marker.

“Oh, Hyuk-ah?” Hakyeon grinned. “What are you still doing here? You should get home and go to sleep!”

“I could say the same for you, hyung,” Hyuk pointed out, leaning against the edge of the desk in the room.

“I still have to work out some plays for next week,” Hakyeon said, reaching out to rub out a circle and replace it with an x. “Don’t worry, hyung’s used to staying up.”

“You’re the one who said we needed lots of rest for practice!” Hyuk pointed out.

Hakyeon paused, turning to look at him over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Are you worrying about me, Sanghyuk?”

“No!” Hyuk denied quickly, looking steadfastly into the corner rather than make eye contact. “I just…want to make sure we win…which we’ll do...if we’re rested…” he trailed off lamely.

“Stop talking back to me and go home,” Hakyeon said, challenge in his eyes.

“But, hyung, isn’t it coach’s job to do this?” Hyuk pressed, ignoring the warning tone.

“Coach doesn’t know the team like I do,” Hakyeon sighed. “He forgets about Wonshik’s ankle and how to deal with Taek when he’s in a mood. He forgets that Jaehwan gets more energy the longer he plays. He doesn’t account for personality in his strategy. So…I do feel the need to think about things a little longer. It’s…annoying, right? Nevertheless, I think it helps.”

“It’s not—“ Hyuk began, stepping forward, only to trip forward, shoulder angling for the whiteboard.

“Whoa!” Hakyeon started, reaching out to catch him. Maybe he didn’t expect Hyuk to be so heavy, but in the end they both found themselves on the ground, Hyuk sprawled on top of a wincing Hakyeon.

“Hyung!” Hyuk shouted, scrambling off of him. “Are you okay?”

“What about you?” Hakyeon asked immediately, sitting up.

“I asked first!” Hyuk said, looking him over carefully. “Don’t move!” he yelled when Hakyeon tried to stand. “Something might be aggravated.”

Hakyeon heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Well, what do you want to do, then? Carry me?”

“Ah,” Hyuk nodded. “Okay.”

Hakyeon’s eyes widened considerably. “No, Hyukkie, I wasn’t being ser—“

Leaning down, Sanghyuk heaved his hyung into his arms and sat him down on the top of the desk. “Where does it hurt?” Hyuk asked worriedly.  

Hakyeon audibly swallowed as their faces lingered close together. “I’m fine,” he said lightly.

Hyuk sighed in relief.

Hakyeon rubbed furiously at his chest.


	8. What the hell, man (YoonMinSeok)

“Why are we even here?” Yoongi complained for the thousandth time. “This is stupid. It’s literally the stupidest thing we have ever done, and that is saying something.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re embarrassed,” Hoseok waved him off. “It’s for charity, hyung! Besides, we don’t even have to do anything but order some ridiculously overpriced ice cream. It’s not going to kill you!”

“That remains to be seen!” Yoongi huffed, pale cheeks stained red. “I can’t believe you let Jin talk you into this!”

“For the last time, it’s for charity!” Hoseok practically screamed. “You don’t even have to talk to him! Now be quiet and stare at the pretty people!”

Yoongi sulked and kept his eyes glued to the table as Hoseok slid from their booth in search of Jin. Jin, who’d put together the great idea of a charity brunch where all the models from his fashion agency served the food. Really, it wasn’t a horrible idea. The models got exposure, the company got good PR, and the customers got to ogle attractive people up close.

The real problem was that Park Jimin worked at Seokjin’s agency, and Park Jimin was the bane of Yoongi’s existence. Hoseok loved him, but Yoongi wanted nothing more than to push him in front of a bus. Well, maybe that was a little harsh. But he still didn’t like him.

“Hello, sir! Can I get your…” Jimin trailed off, his forced, fake smile slipping from his face. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Ah, fuck,” Yoongi groaned. “Of course.”

“What do you want?” Jimin asked, cute nose wrinkling in distaste.

“I’m here for charity,” Yoongi said.

“I _meant_ the food,” Jimin said, lip curling.

“Jiminnie!” Hoseok shouted, throwing his arms around Jimin for a firm hug. “Always so nice to see your face!”

Jimin’s expression softened. “Hi, hyung. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Aw, you look tired, kid,” Hoseok said, scratching Jimin’s head lightly. “You been busy lately?”

“I can’t complain that people want me,” Jimin said, smiling sadly. “So, umm, did you two want to order anything? We’ve got ice cream, sandwiches, salads…” Jimin listed. “All the stuff that unskilled hands can make.”

Yoongi snorted.

“What was that for?” Jimin frowned, brown eyes wide and…watery?

“…nothing,” Yoongi shook his head, not wanting to provoke him further.

“Look, I know you don’t like me!” Jimin said, water now definitely sparkling at the corners of his eyes. “But you really don’t have to be a jerk _all_ the time, okay? I know you think I’m just a dumb piece of meat, but do you think I don’t already know that?” he choked.

Yoongi stared, shocked, but before he could say anything, Jimin was gone, pushing his way back into the kitchen.

“What the hell, man,” Hoseok said, giving Yoongi a judging look.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Yoongi said defensively.

Hoseok sighed. “Yeah, I guess that reaction was a bit much. He’s normally such a sweet kid…I’m gonna’ go talk to him.”

“Should…should I come?” Yoongi said uncertainly.

Hoseok stared at him for a moment. “Sure, why not. Conscience finally kicking in after teasing him all this time?”

“I-I didn’t!” Yoongi stuttered defensively. “He’s the one always being a little jerk!”

“He’s the politest baby on the planet! He’s probably just reacting that way because you started it,” Hoseok said.

“Why the hell are we dating, again?” Yoongi muttered.

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Come on, honey.”

Approaching the swinging door to the kitchen, they could both hear loud sniffled coming from behind it. Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair, before he peeked inside. “Jimin? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin said, voice cracking and completely unconvincing.

“I’m coming in,” Hoseok said, leaving no room for argument. Yoongi stood by the door, leaving it cracked a few inches. “Jimin, what’s going on with you?”

“Sorry,” Jimin said, shaking his head.

“I’m not asking for an apology, I’m asking what’s wrong,” Hoseok said gently. “Besides, Yoongi’s a masochist who likes getting yelled at.”

Yoongi flushed scarlet. “Yah!” he barked.

Jimin snickered, the sound light and pleasant, much better than his tears. “I just…” he sighed. “Work’s been hard, but I know a million people would kill for my job, so I can’t really complain, can I? My problems aren’t _real_ problems, though—“

“Jimin, that’s not how it works,” Hoseok said gently. “You’re allowed to feel stressed, it isn’t a misery competition just because someone hypothetically has it worse than you.” He rested a hand over Jimin’s. “Besides, you have me!” he put on a childish expression, making a kissy face and the accompanying noises.

Jimin giggled for real this time.

“What the fuck, would you stop?” Yoongi groaned, stepping into the room. He sighed. “Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh, I know!” Jimin said quickly. “It wasn’t you, it was just…everything piled up,” he frowned. “I’m sorry,” he added sincerely.

Ah, fuck. The real reason he hated Park Jimin? Because he was too damn cute.

“We’ll take ice cream, by the way,” Hoseok said, ruffing Jimin’s hair. “And after this thing is done, we can go back to our place and talk. You can tell us what’s bothering you.”

“O-okay…” Jimin said timidly.

Hoseok nodded, grabbing Yoongi’s hand as he led them through the door and back to their seats. “Don’t you just want to wrap him up in a blanket, feed him candy, and cradle him in your lap?”

“Okay, that was way too specific, and now I have a horrible mental image,” Yoongi deadpanned.


	9. Always By Your Side (JinMin)

Jimin was so focused on the patter of the rain against the plate glass windows that he nearly over-filled a customer’s mug with scalding hot coffee. He came back to himself just in time, bowing deeply and repeatedly in apology as he resumed his position behind the long counter of the diner.

It had been raining that night, too.

Jimin sighed and half-heartedly swiped at the crumbs decorating the surface with a cloth, feeling strangely lifeless. His apron hung haphazard around his neck, and he knew he probably had flour caught in his hair. It was probably the lack of sleep. He always got like this around this time of year.

A jingle sounded as the door was pushed open by a man in a thick coat, his face hidden in the depths of his hood. He took a few steps inside before sliding into a corner booth, bending over a menu.

Jimin started to make his way over to the new customer, but he was prevented by a bruising grip around his wrist. He looked up, startled.

“This place is a mess, what exactly have you been doing?” the manager growled.

Jimin blanched. He pretty much owed the manager his life, as he was the only one willing to give him a job in a town that was hit hard by an economic depression. As such, he was much more willing to take a lot of the abuse thrown his way. He didn’t have any choice.

“I asked you a question!” the man barked.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin said immediately. “I’ll take care of it right now, I promise!”

The man scowled, letting go of his wrist and shoving him towards the new customer. “You had better. I have people lining up at the door for your job, kid.”

Jimin bowed frantically before shuffling over to the man in the coat, breath quickened by panic. “Can I—can I get you something, sir?” Jimin asked breathlessly.

“How about the Lumberjack special?” the man said, sliding his hood down. “With a side of you, sugar.”

Jimin felt his order pad and pen slip from his fingers, eyes widening comically as he mouthed the name of the man that was always on his mind. For two whole years, he thought of nothing else. “Seokjin…”

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out!” Jin winked, overexaggerated and painfully corny and so very, very Jin.

“But how…” Jimin breathed.

“I’m finally out!” Jin said happily. “Released a few months ago. It’s taken me forever to find you, you know. Have you considered spy work? You’re pretty damn good at hiding yourself.”

“I…” Jimin said, swallowing down the painful flashes of memory. “How…?” he repeated.

“Your friends pointed me in the right direction,” Jin shrugged, tongue flicking out to wet his plush lips. “They’re worried about you, you know.”

Jimin frowned, closing his eyes. “I couldn’t…stay there anymore.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jin sighed, shaking his head. “Can I get some coffee, and then maybe we can talk?”

Jimin looked nervously over his shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Jin nodded slowly. “Well, when do you get off?”

Jin nursed the same cup of coffee for the next three hours, as only a few more people ran into the diner to escape the torrential rain. As Jimin flipped off the last set of lights, Jin opened the door and glanced outside. “It seems like things are clearing up.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agreed. “Did…did you want to come back to my place?”

“If that’s okay?” Jin questioned uncertainly.

“Of course it is!” Jimin said quickly.

It was strange. It was strange that Jin was there, taking up the left side of his threadbare couch. Jimin had never expected to see him again.

“How have you been?” Jin questioned gently.

Jimin shrugged. Living in constant anxiety, unable to sleep from constant nightmares. The usual.

“Jimin,” Jin sighed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Jimin said hurriedly, quickly sitting down next to him. “No, I just, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I don’t have much experience with visiting your ex after being released from prison, either,” Jin said, smiling wryly.

“We never really broke up, though,” Jimin said quietly, fingers clenching in the fabric of his sweatpants.

“You never visited,” Jin said. “I kind of assumed.”

Jimin winced, chewing at his lip as he dared to meet Jin’s eyes. “It was all too much, Jinnie. Even after I got out of the hospital, I was so messed up. Everything, everyone, everywhere—it all reminded me of what happened. Even now, I see his face at the same time as I see yours. And I’m not blaming you!” Jimin said quickly. “I just…I couldn’t cope. So I…I ran away,” he sighed.

“You did,” Jin agreed. “And I’m still kind of horribly angry at you. But even more than that, I miss you. I missed you the entire time.”

“I did too,” Jimin said desperately. “Please, if you don’t believe anything I say, at least believe that.”

Jin smiled, reaching a hand up to brush at Jimin’s cheek. Jimin’s eyes caught on the ring still occupying his middle finger.

“You kept it?” Jimin said, voice brimming with emotion. The stupid cheesy ring with the stupid cheesy inscription that they’d bought each other for Valentine’s Day in high school. Jimin still had it, tucked away under a floor board so his landlord wouldn’t steal it.

“To be fair, they kept it with the rest of my stuff while I was inside, and I just put it on when I got out,” Jin said.

“Oh,” Jimin said dejectedly.

“Baby,” Jin said teasingly. “Of course I kept it. We promised, didn’t we?”

“But I ran away,” Jimin repeated.

Jin shrugged. “I caught you.”


	10. Let Me Hide Here (ChenRis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: aftermath of violence

He hadn’t eaten anything in the last two days and had been subsisting entirely from super-sized lattes and sheer force of will. He hadn’t been home, either, sleeping in the science lounge as he finished up his project.

Which was why, in the overall scheme of things, that he’d first thought the man sleeping on the couch in his living room was a hallucination.

“What the fuck?” Yifan said, book-filled shoulder bag dropping to the floor with a loud bang.

The bang startled the not-actually-a-hallucination on his couch, the man flailing wildly before rolling off of it. “Ouch,” the man whined, not moving from where he lay.

“What the _fuck_?” Yifan repeated.

“Oh,” the man said. “Umm. I’ll leave.”

“Who the hell are you?” Yifan growled.

“I live next door,” the man said, still on the ground and unmoving. “Umm. And I’ll leave. Any second now,” he said, remaining motionless. “Any second.”

“You aren’t moving,” Yifan pointed out.

“Seems so,” the man groaned, pushing against the floor with his hands in an apparently futile effort to sit up. “Umm. I don’t think I can move?”

“I’m calling security,” Yifan deadpanned.

“Wait! Please! I-I’ll try!” the man said, huffing and groaning as he leveraged himself upward, managing to lean his back against the couch. “Sorry! It’s just, you know, I live next door, like I said, and your door was unlocked, and I was desperate—“ he explained, revealing a face half-swollen with bruises and flaking dried blood.

“What the fuck,” Yifan repeated, taking a cautious step forward. “What happened to you?” He felt less threatened the closer he got, seeing that the man was so injured that it was unlikely he could hurt anyone, much less anyone as large as Yifan. The injured man was thin and short, with a full head of dark hair and a pained yet sardonic expression.  

“Well,” the man sighed. “I would say that I got in a fight, except that would be giving me too much credit, because I didn’t do much fighting, just getting punched.”

“I can see that already,” Yifan sighed. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed, which at least the intruder had been kind enough to not sleep on. “You still aren’t moving.”

“Umm,” the man said, wincing as he shifted slightly. “There may be a chance that—that the person who…you know…is still in my apartment?” he wheezed, hand pressing against his side. “So, could I just…could you let me hide here for a few hours more? I-I’ll text someone to pick me up. Look, here, I’ll do it right now!” A few tears slipped down his cheeks as he struggled to pull a phone from his pocket. “They’re just—they’re in class now, and I…” he said brokenly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Who are you hiding from?” Yifan questioned suspiciously.

The man blanched. “It’s…a long story.”

“You aren’t moving,” Yifan said wryly.

“I guess that’s true,” the man sighed. “I’m…well, I told someone I would do something for them, and then I found out some things that I didn’t know before. Because of that, I backed out. And then they got angry, and…” he managed to lift his arm and flap it in the general direction of his face. But his face definitely wasn’t the only thing that was hurt.

“Something illegal?” Yifan asked critically.

“What? No!” the man said hurriedly. “Listen, stop looking at me like that! My name is Kim Jongdae, and I’m in my third year of the business program, and I know that you’re Wu Yifan in the science department. We go to the same school!”

“How do you know that?” Yifan said, suspicious.

“I saw your face in the student newspaper after you won that award! We’ve passed each other in the hallway in this building at least a dozen times!”

“…I don’t remember that,” Yifan muttered.

Jongdae huffed. “Yeah, given your reaction, I figured.” He let out a little pained noise as he tried to push himself up further. “Ah, shit.”

Yifan sighed, his pathetic heart softening at the sight. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Yifan dabbed at the injuries with a cotton ball dipped in peroxide, the man wincing every time he made contact with skin. Yifan wasn’t exactly the gentlest of people, so he kept his mouth shut and focused on finding everything. “Are your ribs bruised?” Yifan asked bluntly.

“Ah,” the man hesitated. “Yeah, but…there’s not much to be done for something like that.”

“Okay, who did you piss off so much that they beat the fuck out of you?” Yifan questioned.

“I…” Jongdae sighed. “I’m friends with a lot of people in the acting department. We went to high school together, and some of them just happened to pursue careers as idols. I mean, I think that’s great, and all, but it never changed our friendship any.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Jongdae sighed again, hand resting against his injured ribs. “I…I met someone. I thought…actually, I don’t know what I thought. That they liked me, maybe? I can see how stupid it was now. But…it wasn’t really me they wanted. They wanted to use me to get closer to one of my idol friends. When I figured out what they were trying to do, I told them in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t going to let it happen. Except…I probably should have considered that they were a lot bigger than me…”

“Well why the fuck didn’t you call the police?” Yifan said, brow furrowed. “You said they could still be in your apartment right now?”

“Because if I called the police, then my friend’s name would definitely come up,” Jongdae said. “They handle these scandals differently in that world than in ours. I can’t just have my friend’s name attached to a police report. I can only imagine all the negative press.”

“Ugh,” Yifan said. “You just had the shit beat out of you by a psycho stalker, I think your friend can deal with it.”

Jongdae smiled sadly, shaking his head. “I can’t risk that. Anyway, I…thanks for not calling the cops on me. I promise that I’ll leave as soon as I can stand up!”

Yifan grimaced. “Look, don’t worry about it.” Leaning down, he helped the man slowly back onto the couch, ignoring the sympathy pangs as Jongdae bit his lip to stop from crying. “You can stay on my couch for however long you want. I’m going to go to my room and sleep because I’m about to die.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae said softly, looking down at his lap.

“It you’re still here when I wake up, I’ll walk you over there,” Yifan said. “He’s not bigger than _me_ , is he?”

Jongdae chuckled painfully. “No, definitely not.”

“Then goodnight,” Yifan said tiredly, practically collapsing into his bed, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.


	11. I'll protect you (YoonMin)

Yoongi was five seconds away from losing it.

His fists were clenched, jaw locked, face red and sweaty as he assumed a defensive stance.

“Hey, next round’s on me!” Jimin said cheerily, shoving bottles into large, rough hands with practiced ease. “How about you guys go check out the pool table? We just got some new cues that could use breaking in!”

The men grumbled but moved away, more interested in free beer and pool than anything else. Yoongi sighed, some of the tension easing from his muscles as he slumped back onto his stool. Jimin was the only person who could really calm him down, and it had always been like that. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, _you_ don’t have to keep starting fights with everyone that walks into the bar!” Jimin hissed, rubbing a small hand over his forehead.

“I didn’t start it! He was treating you like shit!” Yoongi complained, searching the pockets of his black leather jacket. Coming up empty, he sighed. “Shit, I’m out.”

“Good!” Jimin scolded. “You smell horrible when you smoke.”

“Why the fuck are you all over me tonight?” Yoongi scowled.

“Because I’m tired, hyung! I’m tired of cleaning up all of your messes! I’m tired of worrying about you getting in trouble all the time!” Jimin said, his usually bright expression replaced with tension and annoyance. “Namjoon asked me out, you know,” he added quietly.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi said incredulously. “He did what?”

“Oh, so you care now, huh?” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“You’re not being fair!” Yoongi said lowly. “What did you say?”

“No, _you’re not_ —“ Jimin cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “You know what? I’m done.”

Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat, heartbeat skyrocketing. “…what?”

“You heard me,” Jimin said, wiping at a spill on the bar.

“Jimin, come on,” Yoongi said uncertainly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’m pretty sure I do. I think it’s best that you leave,” Jimin said quietly.

“Jimin…” Yoongi tied. “Jimin, look at me.”

After a few seconds of stubborn resistance, Jimin complied, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry that we can’t…can’t do normal things like a normal…” Yoongi trailed off. “I really am sorry. But you knew that. When we started…you _knew_ that.”

“You’re right, I did. I really did, hyung, and I thought it would be okay. But Namjoon hyung talks to me out in the open. He buys me flowers, he…he’s not afraid when other people see us together. I want that with you. I guess I just didn’t realize how much.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, voice pained. “There’s a lot that I can’t give you, but…I try my fucking hardest to give you everything else. There are some things I can’t say, but I show it. I fucking show it! That’s not good enough for you all of a sudden?”

Jimin smiled weakly. “It just hurts too much, hyung.”

“What? What hurts?” Yoongi questioned, desperate to understand. Desperate to fix it.

“Feeling like a dirty secret all the time,” Jimin said softly.  

Yoongi swallowed, mind racing as it tried to come up with something to say to make it all better.

“You promised that you would protect me, hyung,” Jimin said. “And you have…but just my body. You haven’t protected my heart. You’ve made me watch you destroy yourself trying to claw your way to the top of something that doesn’t even matter. And I…I’m just tired,” he repeated sadly.

Yoongi felt his temper flare to life again, even he though he tried to suppress it. “What the fuck? All of a sudden everything I’ve worked for—for _you_ —doesn’t matter just because your feelings are hurt?”

“That’s not…” Jimin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Yoongi, I…I love you. But I can’t do this anymore.”

“You know what? _Fuck you_!” Yoongi spat, slipping from the stool and storming from the bar, ignoring Jimin calling after him.

He pressed one hand to the brick wall outside, the other clutching at his heart and begging it to stop hurting. He’d never actually thought that Jimin would abandon him, too. Had never thought it was even a remote possibility. Everything he’d done was to protect their future together. All of the sins he committed were for _him_. Everything. All of it was for him.

And to be thrown away just for working so hard to get them there?

That hurt more than he ever could have imagined.

“Did’ya see the kid behind the bar?”

Yoongi looked up sharply at the two men having a conversation on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, what about him?” the second man answered.

“Jung’s had his eye on him for the club. Thinks his face would be a good draw. Hasn’t been able to convince him, though. I kind of feel bad for the kid. Soon the nice words’ll stop and the fists’ll start.”

Yoongi bristled, practically growling like an animal as he approached them. Fisting his hand into a shirt, he pulled the man close. “What the fuck are you talking about? Tell me. Everything.”

After all, Yoongi had made a promise.

When they’d both run away from home, sleeping in playground tunnels and stealing food from convenience stores. When they’d held each other for warmth. When he’d known just how soft Jimin’s heart could be, so soft that he would never prioritize himself over anything else. _I’ll protect you_ Yoongi had promised, brushing fingers lightly over Jimin’s bruised cheek as they huddled behind a dumpster.

All the blood on his hands was for one person, and he would never stop spilling it for as long as he needed to make sure he was safe.

Even if Jimin didn’t want him anymore.


	12. Numbers Don't Matter (JinMin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age Difference

Seokjin was incredibly nervous.

His friends and his boyfriend would finally be meeting each other, and he was caught running through the worst case scenarios over and over again. What if they didn’t get along? What if they hated each other? What if he had to pick sides?

He loved both of them with all of his heart, but there was something that his friends didn’t know, and he was afraid it would ruin everything.

The thing was…Jimin was young. Not illegally young, but still young enough to raise significant questions about Jin’s taste in men. Having just turned thirty, he usually went for the older, brawny types. But something about Jimin had him wrapped around the younger man’s little finger.  

“Now, listen,” he explained carefully, their eyes trained on him in amusement and curiosity. “Jimin will be here in ten minutes or so, and there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Is he a serial killer?” Yoongi said.

“What? No!” Jin rolled his eyes.

“Does he kick puppies?” Namjoon said, mirth in his tone.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Seokjin sighed.

“Does he eat pizza with pineapple on it?” Hoseok piped up.

“That is hardly of the same proportion as the other two,” Seokjin laughed, feeling some of his tension ease.

“Then why the hell are you so worried about it?” Yoongi grunted, eyes flicking to the kitchen, from which delicious smells permeated the room. “I’m hungry, tell him to hurry up.”

“Guys!” Jin whined. “Jimin is…well…he’s…not my usual type.”

“Which means?” Hoseok said, poking at his thigh. “What, he’s a nerd, or something?”

“Or something,” Jin sighed. “Look—“

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “It’s open!” Namjoon called, before Jin could say anything.

Four pair of eyes settled on the doorway as a soft “Excuse me,” sounded from the hall.

Jin inhaled sharply as his shy boyfriend shuffled into the room, looking absolutely stunning. His hair was coifed to perfection, his button-up shirt crisp and his pants _tight_. Just the way Jin liked them. “H-hello,” Jimin said, bowing to Jin’s friends, who were staring at him like he was a crazy person. “I-I’m Park Jimin. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, baby, you look great!” Jin exclaimed, pulling him further into the room and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Not that you don’t always look great. Jimin, this is Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon. Everyone, this is Jimin.”

Hoseok was the first to break the silence, standing up to wrap Jimin in a crushing hug. “What the fuck, hyung?!” he said. “He’s so cute!”

“I-I’m not cute,” Jimin muttered, pressing a little closer to Jin.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jimin,” Namjoon said warmly, standing to shake his hand. “We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us.”

“Oh, umm,” Jimin said, flustered at the man’s height and breadth. “It-it’s no problem.”

“How old are you, kid?” Yoongi asked bluntly. Seokjin kicked him in the shin. “Ouch! What? He looks like he’s twelve!”

“I’m twenty one!” Jimin said, cheeks flushing. “I’m not a kid!”

“Oooh, twenty one,” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“One more word and I’m not feeding you,” Jin hissed, noticing how Jimin physically curled in on himself.

“Holding the food hostage? What a low blow,” Yoongi muttered.

“How was the trip, baby?” Jin asked, brushing his fingers through the hair at Jimin’s nape and causing the younger boy to shiver.

“Oh, it was fine. Taehyung knows someone with a car, so he was able to drop me off. I really didn’t want to take the bus in these clothes,” he said, cheeks still tinged pink.

Jin smiled. “I don’t want anyone but me seeing you in them either,” he teased.

“Gross,” Hoseok pretended to throw up.

“You know what? You can all leave, and Jimin and I will have a nice meal alone!” Jin threatened.

“How about we go set things up in the kitchen?” Namjoon said, giving Jin a meaningful look.

“Okay…” Jin agreed cautiously. “Hoseok, you and Jimin can talk about dance. Yoongi, you can just shut up.”

Jin felt irrationally nervous as he and Namjoon stepped into the kitchen, knowing that the younger man had something to say to him in private. He valued Namjoon’s opinion a lot, and he was worried that it was a bad one. But how could anyone say anything bad about Jimin?

“So,” Namjoon began.

“I love him, Joon,” Jin said honestly. “No one has made me this happy in a long time.”

Namjoon gave him a wry smile. “I’ve noticed, hyung. I have. But…are you sure about this? You’re both at very different points in your lives, and you want very different things.”

“Joon-ah, the only thing I want is that man in the other room,” Jin said.

“And what does he want? What does he get out of this?” Namjoon challenged.

Jin exhaled sharply to try and calm his temper. “Are you daring to suggest that he only wants me for my money?”

“Hyung—“

“No, you listen up!” Jin said, waving a threatening finger. “Jimin is the nicest, sweetest human being on the planet. Any suggestion of ulterior motives is not only wrong, but impossible. First, he doesn’t actually know what I’m worth. Second, he’s worth more to me than all of my money.”

“Okay, hyung, okay,” Namjoon said, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just looking out for you. You’re right, he’s not at all like your usual type.”

“Which is why I think I know why none of my relationships were working out too well,” Jin chuckled. “Muscles are nice, and all, but what’s really important is the cute factor.”

“Cute factor?” Namjoon said, unconvinced.

“Come here,” Jin said, pulling him into the living room.

Jimin had fallen across the couch, hair mussed and clothes rumpled as Hoseok and Yoongi assaulted him with tickling fingers. “Hyung, help!” Jimin cried, giggling loudly, eyes bright with joy.

Jin looked at Namjoon pointedly, where the man was giving them a fond smile.

“The cute factor,” Namjoon repeated, mulling it over. “I see.”


	13. You Can't Trust Me (JiKook)

Jimin had always thought the stock boy was a bit strange.

Cute, but strange.

He showed up in an expensive suit one afternoon, begging for a part-time job. Jimin didn’t really need any extra help at the store, but he was also shallow and couldn’t turn down a face like that. Especially when it would likely bring in some more customers.

He had to wonder why someone with a suit like that wanted a part time job at a grocery store.

Jeon Jungkook’s only responsibility at the store was to pile groceries on shelves and return shopping carts to their corrals at the front of the store. Still, he managed to look shifty. He was always looking over his shoulder like someone was following him, whispering to himself, and answering suspicious phone calls.

Jimin should probably yell at him more. But the boy was really very cute.

“Excuse me,” an angry looking man said, approaching Jimin where he was counting inventory.

“Yes?” Jimin said, putting on his best retail smile.

“The idiots over there won’t let me return this,” he spat, waving a bag in Jimin’s face. Jimin took a step back so that he could take a look at it without putting an eye out.  

“Sir, we don’t sell air mattresses,” Jimin said patiently, “only foodstuffs.”

The man looked stricken for a moment, face reddening as he stomped out. Jimin turned when heard a snicker, quirking an eyebrow at Jungkook covering his mouth with a hand. So cute, really.

“How’s stocking going today, Jungkook?” Jimin asked with a gentle smile. “Anything crazy happen?”

“Just the usual war with the dust bunnies,” Jungkook said softly, grimacing as he rubbed his dirty hands over the thighs of his pants.

Suddenly, Jimin was falling forward, a sharp pain in his shoulder as a few high school students ran past them. “Agh,” Jimin gasped, bracing for impact, but Jungkook’s warm hands wrapped around his arms, holding him up.

“You okay, hyung?” Jungkook questioned, concern in his voice as he glanced at the running teens. “Sorry, they ran right into you, and I didn’t see them until it was too late.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Jimin waved off, rubbing at his shoulder. “I’m used to being hit by the most random of things.”

Jungkook frowned. “Like what things?”

Jimin hesitated at the sincerity of his tone. “Just, you know, when people don’t put things back on the shelves right, they tend to fall on me. When I set up displays, they fall on me. When people get mad about things, they tend to throw stuff at me. All in a day’s work,” Jimin shrugged.

Jungkook looked practically offended. “We’ll work on your evasiveness,” he muttered, nodding to himself.

“O…kay?” Jimin said, turning to leave and making his way down the aisle. “Well, I’m going to check on the frozen foods section.”

“Hey!” Jungkook said, and Jimin stopped, startled, before he was being scooped up into the younger man’s arms, a tower of soda cans collapsing just a moment later onto where he’d been standing.

Jimin swallowed audibly, his eyes meeting Jungkook’s as they shared a bizarrely intimate moment, Jimin cradled in Jungkook’s unusually brawny arms. Maybe Jimin should try stocking things, if it got him arms like those.

“Umm,” Jungkook said, flushing tomato red as he set Jimin back on his feet. “You should be careful.”

“How…how did you…?” Jimin trailed off, looking between Jungkook and the pile of cans. “You were like ten feet away from me.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Jungkook said quickly.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah you were,” Jimin insisted.

“Look, hyung,” Jungkook said, chewing on his bottom lip. “It’s best if you don’t ask any questions.”

“What…” Jimin sighed, shaking his head. “You know what, I’m not even going to try, I get off in an hour.”

Jungkook walked stiffly back to his cart, reaching into the cardboard boxes and setting things on shelves.

Jimin sighed. Cute but _weird_.

He sighed again later when, on stepping out of the store, the sky decided to empty buckets over his head. He clung unhappily to the wall under the store’s awning, trying to convince someone to drive there and pick him up. He looked up sharply when Jungkook stepped outside too, not seeming to notice that he was there, phone pressed to his ear.

“Look, I don’t _care_ if he’s the CEO,” Jungkook said, frustrated. “What he’s offering doesn’t make it remotely worth it. Tell him to try again or no deal.” With a forceful tap, he ended the call.

Jimin cleared his throat, and Jungkook whipped around to face him, paling in shock. “Hyung!”

“What was that about?” Jimin said, brow furrowed. “Did you say…CEO?”

“No,” Jungkook said quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

“You totally did!” Jimin insisted.

“Bye!” Jungkook said, running into the pouring rain.

“What the…” Jimin frowned, rubbing at his forehead.

So strange.

But really nice arms.


	14. I said "No ghosts" (YoonSeok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in bottom set of notes.

“Hoseok, would you please chill out?” Yoongi said, exasperated, as Hoseok clung tightly to his arm. “Even if there is something scary out there tonight, it’s not like I’d be of any use protecting you from it.”

“Hey, this is all your fault!” Hoseok hissed as they stepped into the parking lot of the movie theatre. “I told you I don’t watch these kinds of things!”

“I didn’t _know_ it was a horror movie!” Yoongi sighed. “It was nothing like the trailers advertised.” He pressed a button on the key fob to unlock the doors of their car. “Besides, you legitimately exorcise spirits for a living, why the fuck are you afraid of a movie?”

“Because they can get like that, sometimes!” Hoseok whined, sliding into the front passenger seat. “I mainly deal with the cute ones who just want to move on! But the mean ones…” he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

Yoongi sighed again, but more kindly this time, reaching out to rest a supportive hand on Hoseok’s arm. “I know, I’m sorry. I really didn’t know it was a horror movie.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hoseok smiled sadly. “I hate that I was born with these stupid abilities in the first place.”

They were quiet for most of the drive home, each lost in his own thoughts.

Hoseok had always had the ability to see things that weren’t there. His grandmother had attributed it to his positivity. Things in the dark and the void were drawn to light and warmth. Even at his lowest, Hoseok had the tendency to put on a brave face, so the things never left him alone.

His only moments of peace were when he could convince them to move on. And so, he got really good at it. At guiding them to where they were supposed to be, instead of haunting somewhere else.

It never got less scary.

That was how he and Yoongi met. Hoseok had noticed something clinging to Yoongi’s back, even though the other man couldn’t see or feel it. It had taken months of Hoseok persuading Yoongi that he wasn’t crazy before Yoongi would let him help get rid of the thing that had been contributing to his deep depression for months.

And so Yoongi found himself gravitating towards the other man just like the spirits did.

He often felt completely useless. He couldn’t see any of the things that Hoseok did, and so he couldn’t help with any of it, either.

Hoseok was quiet as they got ready for bed in their shared apartment, going through the motions of his nightly routine without really being present in the moment. “Seokie, you okay?” Yoongi questioned uncertainly, as Hoseok tried to put shaving cream on his toothbrush.

“Oh,” Hoseok said, blinking. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Yoongi definitely didn’t believe him.

“Come on, talk to me,” Yoongi said. “Opportunities like this don’t come around every day, me actually wanting to do the talking thing.”

Hoseok let out an amused huff, nodding as they stepped into the living room and settled in to their overstuffed couch.

“So?” Yoongi prompted.

“So…” Hoseok sighed. “The movie reminded me of something that happened a while ago. It was…it was someone that I couldn’t help. That wouldn’t let me help them. It didn’t end well.”

Yoongi nodded that he was listening.

“As a teenager, I was just…I was figuring out how all of this stuff worked,” Hoseok said hesitantly. “One day, I was the class clown, but then the next I started to see all these crazy things, and people just stopped talking to me.”

Yoongi frowned.

“So there I was, feeling horrible and _insane_ and like nothing would ever go right again, when I saw that someone in my class had this…I don’t know how to describe it…this aura, I guess? It was…it was big, and it was dark, and it was _evil_.”

“Something…like mine?” Yoongi said.

“Kinda’,” Hoseok shrugged, “except about a million times scarier. I didn’t know what to do, so I just…I pretended that I didn’t see it, even though I would shake in my boots every time it was around.”

“But something changed?” Yoongi guessed.

“We were paired up as lab partners in chemistry,” Hoseok sighed. “And I really did think I was crazy, because he seemed totally…normal? Like, maybe a little awkward, but nothing out of the ordinary. And he…I mean, he seemed nice. He was willing to talk to me when other people wouldn’t.”

“So, no sign of what the thing was doing to him?” Yoongi said.

“Yeah, he was just…” Hoseok trailed off, shaking his head. “But then, I saw him after school one day…Just…” he swallowed, hands beginning to tremble.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi said. “You don’t…you don’t have to keep going.”

“No,” Hoseok said, determined. “I really should stop being so scared of even just talking about something. Anyway, I…I caught him torturing one of the neighborhood cats. His face was blank as he did it. Like, he wasn’t even doing it because he liked it, there was just…nothing. No reason at all.”

“Geeze,” Yoongi breathed.

“And so, I…I confronted him. And I told him. I told him about the thing that was haunting him, or attached to him, I’m still not exactly sure what it was. And he just…he gave me this look. This _sad_ look, like he knew all along, but there was nothing he could do about it.”

“Fuck, so what…what happened?” Yoongi said.

“I tried _so_ hard to think of a way to get rid of it. From holy water to Buddhist chanting, but nothing fucking…nothing worked! And…and eventually, whatever the thing was, it got so big that there was nothing left of the original person, just a shadow of a human being.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathed.

“And then…he killed himself,” Hoseok said quietly. “Well, I don’t know if it was him, or if it was the thing inside of his body that did it. Either way, one of them couldn’t take living like that anymore. And I couldn’t figure out a way to save him.”

“Hey, that’s not your fault!” Yoongi said. “It’s not your responsibility to save the world!”

“I know,” Hoseok sighed. “But sometimes it feels like it is. That’s why I like cute things, and nice things, and funny things. Then I don’t have to think so much about all the bad things out there.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said. “I really didn’t mean for the movie to—“

“I know, hyung,” Hoseok smiled. “And I don’t blame you. But now, you can’t blame me for the cuddling that is to come.”

Yoongi sighed. “I guess I can allow it for one night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: animal harm mention, suicide mention, horror themes.


	15. Caught in a Lie (JiKook)

“Jeon Jungkook?”

The question slipped past his lips before the wrongness of the situation truly had time to settle in.

Jimin had forgotten his phone in his office, but he only realized when he was halfway across the parking garage. Sighing in annoyance, he’d made the trek back up to the twenty-third floor. There was practically no one left in the building. Jimin himself had only stayed late to finish up a project he was working on for their latest major ad campaign.

He’d paused when he’d noticed that the door to his office was unlocked, but he honestly hadn’t thought much of it. He’d probably just forgotten in his eagerness to leave, which also explained the phone.

Pushing lightly at the heavy wood, he’d frowned when he caught sight of the familiar man standing over his desk.

Jimin should have turned around, should have notified security, should have done anything other than step inside, open his mouth, and alert the other that he was there.

“Jimin?” Jungkook said, startled, quickly turning around and holding something unsubtly behind his back. “I thought you left.”

“I can see that,” Jimin said, frowning, brow furrowing as he noticed that his papers were out of order. “What…what are you doing in here?”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinked. “I was just…looking for the Cooper file.”

“At eleven at night?” Jimin said.

“You’re here too,” Jungkook shrugged, biceps visibly tensing under his shirtsleeves.

“Yeah, but you’re in _my_ office. My locked…” Jimin trailed off, taking a small step back. “Jungkook, what’s going on?”

Jungkook sighed, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. “I really wish you hadn’t come back.”

Something about the way he said it made the hair on Jimin’s neck stand on end. “Wh…what do you mean?” Jimin said, already reaching blindly behind him to wrap his hand around the doorknob.

Jimin wasn’t a weak man. He was on the shorter side, but he took care of himself and made regular visits to the gym. He should have been able to _do_ something as Jungkook’s forearm pinned his upper body to the wall, the initial slam taking his breath away.

As it was, he couldn’t get the other man to budge even a centimeter. Jungkook loomed over him like a shadow, blocking out the wink of the city lights visible through the large windows.

Jungkook made himself small at work, invisible almost, shoulders always folded in on himself. But now, pressing Jimin into the wall of his office, he seemed like a titan.

“What the hell?” Jimin grunted, hands automatically raising defensively. “Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Threatening you,” Jungkook said darkly. “Listen.”

Jimin couldn’t help the small gasp that followed the blunt declaration. “Wh-what? But why? I…I didn’t do anything!”

“You can’t tell anyone that you saw me here,” Jungkook said, pressing Jimin harder against the white plaster. “Do you understand?”

“Wh—“ Jimin struggled, chest compressed by the external pressure. “But I…I don’t understand why you’re doing this!”

“And you don’t _need_ to,” Jungkook said lowly. “Just promise me that you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“But—“

“Jimin!” Jungkook said harshly, reaching his free hand up to cover Jimin’s mouth. Jimin struggled to free himself, moving his face from side to side, but Jungkook’s hand was large and unyielding, obstructing his air flow. “Promise me! Nod your head. I don’t want to have to hurt you, Jimin. Please, just do what I say.”

Heart battering against his rib cage, all Jimin could do was shake his head jerkily up and down.

Jungkook exhaled slowly. “Good.” The pressure against Jimin’s chest and mouth eased.  “I’m going to let go, now. I expect you to keep your promise.”

Jungkook pulled his arms back, watching Jimin carefully where he was now pressing _himself_ against the wall in an effort to stay away from Jungkook.

Jungkook sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment before raising his eyes back up to pierce into Jimin’s. “Don’t…don’t tell, okay, Jimin?” His voice was oddly innocent, eyes pleading.

Jimin didn’t know what he was supposed to do. “Okay,” he whispered uncertainly.

Jungkook nodded. “I’m…sorry. I…I know you don’t understand. But please know that I’m only doing what I have to.”

With that, he fled, closing the office door behind him.

Jimin collapsed into his rolling chair, flinging his head back against the cushioned seat. What the hell. What. The. Hell.

After a few tense seconds of calming his breathing, he opened his eyes to survey the mess on top of his desk. It looked almost how he’d left it, but there were some things noticeably out of place. His large paper weight was a few inches to the left of where he normally sat it. His files were fanned out over a wider area. The concept art for a campaign had been pushed to one corner.

Jungkook had commanded him not to tell, but tell _what_? Tell _whom_? What was so scary that Jungkook felt the need to threaten him? Jimin was just a marketing director. He wasn’t important. He just put pretty pictures together for large conglomerates to sell products.

And Jeon Jungkook was just…Jimin had thought he was just a regular employee. He showed up on time, dressed neatly, ducked his head and stayed out of the way. So what the actual fuck?

His eyes caught on the glint of something metallic lying across his files.

Frowning, Jimin reached out to pinch the little piece of metal between his thumb and forefinger. It looked like a needle, but with intricate marking covering its surface.

Jimin flinched as a slice of pain dragged over his thumb, quickly dropping the thing as a few droplets of his blood smeared over its surface.

For a moment, he could have sworn that it glowed.


	16. It hurts too much (MinJoon)

Jimin sighed as he pushed open the heavy metal door. It didn’t matter how many times he had done it before, or how many times he would do it in the future. It felt wrong. He felt...

But there was no escaping duty.

As though some cosmic joke had been played on him, Jimin was born to a family of mercenaries. They had done the bloody work for generations, selling their skills or bringing in bounties across the galaxy. But Jimin wasn’t like the rest of them. He could hold his own, but he didn’t _like_ fighting. He didn’t like seeing the spirits of their captives die out, the light fading from their eyes. He didn’t enjoy the adrenaline rush of putting his own life on the line. Being forced to watch his parents die as they took on more than they could handle.

But still, he didn’t have much of a choice. He didn’t know anything else. He didn’t know any other way to _be_. His heart ached.

“Food,” Jimin grunted into the darkness, giving the prisoners in the tiny cells some warning that he was about to turn on the lights. The rest of the crew saw dollar signs and sacks of meat. Jimin saw people. They were just people, and they deserved some dignity, even if they’d done horrible things.

It wasn’t like he was any better.

He shoved the metal trays he’d been balancing through the small slots in the cells, dodging a few swiping hands. He frowned when he realized that the fourth cell, which had been empty, was now occupied. “Oh,” Jimin said. “I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll go get more.”

“Thanks,” the man said, voice deep and warm. “I’m starving.”

“Then I’ll get extra,” Jimin huffed in amusement, stepping back into the corridor.

“Yah,” Hoseok said, and Jimin startled, not having realized he was there. “Don’t talk to the bounties.”

“He talked to _me_!” Jimin protested, grumbling under his breath as he returned to their mess of a kitchen, foraging for an extra meal set as Hoseok hopped up to sit on a counter. He usually set aside enough for at least two meals a day per prisoner, but having a whole extra person threw off his calculations before the next supply run. When had someone even gotten him on board?

“You shouldn’t waste our supplies on them,” Hoseok said, following him with his eyes as Jimin opened cabinets and drawers. “They’re going to be executed, anyway.”

“We don’t get the bounty if they’re dead,” Jimin sighed, grimacing as his hand brushed something moist and squishy. “Spend money now, get money later.”

“You and your bleeding heart,” Hoseok tutted. “You think I don’t know that you check up on them when Captain’s asleep?”

Jimin stiffened, eyeing Hoseok critically. “Did you tell Yoongi?”

Hoseok scoffed. “Of course not. If I did, d’you think he’d let you near them again?”

Jimin sighed, this time in relief. “Look, I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m protecting our investment. You really don’t have to make such a big deal out of this.”

Hoseok snorted, jumping down from the counter. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

Jimin frowned, pausing as he dug through another cabinet. “I do,” he said softly. “It doesn’t work.”

Jimin stepped back into the cell wing with a heavy heart.

Again, he avoided and ignored the jeering voices and reaching hands as he came to stand in front of the final cell. “Here,” Jimin said, sliding the bar and dried fruit through the slot. “It isn’t much, I’m sorry.”

The man shrugged, accepting the food without complaint and immediately opening the packaging. “Thank you. It’s more than I was expecting when they shoved me in here.”

Jimin watched for a moment as the man devoured the food. He wasn’t like their usual bounties. He was on the thin side, long limbs scrunched awkwardly in the small cot. A large pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the left lens cracked. His hair was a mess of blond strands, his skin deeply tanned. He didn’t _look_ like he was worth a lot.

It slipped out before he could rethink it. “What did you do?”

The man wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants, heaving a heavy sigh. “I had the wrong ideas, I suppose.”

“Ideas?” Jimin questioned. “There’s a bounty on you for ideas?”

He smiled sadly. “The Empire doesn’t like loud thinkers.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “I see. I’ve just…we’ve never taken that kind of bounty before.”

“I imagine that it was quite a lot of money. Enough to make it worth it.”

“Oh,” Jimin blinked. “Are you that important to them?”

“I’m not sure important is the right word. At the least, it was important that they shut down my broadcast.”

“Broadcast? Like…over the celestial waves?” Jimin said, unable to stop the excitement in his voice.

The man’s next smile was genuine. “You’re a listener? I’ve heard it’s much less popular nowadays. But still, I consider it the best way to get information across the galaxy. It’s the only thing that’ll travel in a vacuum.”

“I like…the music,” Jimin admitted softly. “It helps. When everything…gets to be too much.” When his dreams consist of nothing but the blood staining his hands.

The man stood, taking a cautious step towards the bars. “I imagine that you lead a difficult life, doing this. Forgive me if I presume too much, but you don’t…you don’t seem like the rest of them. Not the ones who took me. Not the ones who’ve tried.”

Jimin sighed. “Maybe I’m not.  I don’t know, anymore.”

“Then—“

The door slid open, Yoongi stomping thunderously inside. At first glance, Min Yoongi wasn’t an intimidating man. He was small in stature, thin enough that an unknowing observer would assume him to be frail. He wasn’t.

“Jimin!” Yoongi growled, bruising grip wrapping around Jimin’s bicep. “What have I said about talking to them?”

“I-I was just—“ Jimin stuttered, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

“I don’t fucking care! _Don’t_ do it again!” Yoongi spat.

“It was just a conversation,” the man in the cell said, stepping closer to the bars. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

“You, shut up!” Yoongi said, kicking the bars so hard that a few of them bent inward.

“I’m not very good at that,” the man shrugged.

“Yoongi—“ Jimin tried, a stinging pain blooming across his cheek as his knees struck the floor.

“I’ve had enough of this!” Yoongi raged. “You never do what you’re told! I’m sick of you failing to follow simple directions! You’re going to get us all killed!”

“Please, it was really just a few words,” the man in the cell said, close enough to wrap his hands around the metal rods. “There’s no need to hurt anyone.”

Yoongi shot him a sharp glare before returning his attention to Jimin, who hadn’t moved for fear of bringing down more of Yoongi’s wrath. “You like them so fucking much? Then spend some fucking time with your new friends.”

Jimin was yanked back to his feet and thrown into the nearest empty cell, Yoongi slamming the door shut behind him. “Y-Yoongi, I’m sorry!” Jimin said, throwing himself at the door. “We were just talking…”

“You were _just_ doing exactly what I told you not to! Now stay in here and reflect on your actions. Maybe I’ll let you out before we get to Gentaur. Or maybe I’ll just let you fucking rot.”

Jimin sighed as he stomped into the hallway just as loudly as he’d stomped in, letting his forehead rest against the cold metal.

“Well, that went well,” the man said. “Is he always like that?”

“Only every day,” Jimin muttered, shuffling over to the cot and rubbing at his empty stomach, which gurgled loudly.

“Have you not eaten?”

“Oh,” Jimin said. “No, I…was going to…after this…” he sighed again. “I’m only a little worried that Yoongi won’t tell anyone I’m here, and then _none_ of us will eat.”

“I’m…sorry,” the man said. “I did not intend to—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Jimin said. “I’ve been through much, much worse. This is basically a vacation. You should worry about yourself, not me. They’re going to kill you, you know. When we turn you in.”

“You really don’t seem like them,” the man mused. “Tell me, what would you do? If you weren’t doing this.”

“Anything,” Jimin breathed. “I would do anything.”

“I see…” the man said lowly. “Then, perhaps, you could lend me your voice?”

“My…voice?” Jimin said. “What…what do you mean?”

“In a few hours, my crew will come for me,” the man said. “You are welcome to join, if you so wish.”

Jimin felt his heart jump into his throat. “Leave…here? Just like that? But you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” the man said. “People who listen to the waves…we’re…different. I can always tell. If you truly wish to change your fate, then all it takes is a yes.”

Jimin frowned, gnawing on his bottom lip as his mind raced. “But where would we go?”

“Wherever the message takes us, my friend.”

Jimin was thrown from the cot as a thunderous rumble shook the ship, shoulder striking the floor.

“They’re early,” the man mused.

 

 

 

 

 


	17. When You're Gone (NBin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why so angsty

They tip-toed around him for weeks.

The apartment, usually loud and full of energy, felt instead like an empty church. A few candles lit in remembrance of what once was. Whispers for fear of disturbing the Almighty. Knees striking the carpet, asking for _something_ —forgiveness? Intervention? For suffering to end?

“Yah,” Taekwoon’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “You’re making everyone sad.”

Hakyeon noted the discomfort in his face, the effort it must have taken to say something at all. That spoke volumes.

“Ah,” Hakyeon sighed, unable to find it in himself to offer even a shadow of a smile. “I’m sorry, I…how bad is the backtalk from the kids?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Well, they definitely know more ways to curse someone out than I do,” Taekwoon huffed. “But in their defense, Jaehwan’s got a big bruise from that book.”

Hakyeon felt a twinge of guilt. “Yeah, well…” he sighed again. “He interrupted me.”

“He told you to eat something,” Taekwoon muttered.

“He interrupted me not eating something,” Hakyeon deadpanned.

“This isn’t going to make him come back,” Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon winced, curling his shoulders inward as he glanced at the floor. The pristine kitchen floor that he’d spent hours polishing, just in an effort to avoid feeling anything. “Back?” Hakyeon laughed, the sound dark and foreboding. “I never want to see his fucking face again.”

Hakyeon had thought…

Well, it didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. None of it had mattered to _him_ , after all.

“He’s just trying to live,” Taekwoon said. “Just like us.”

“ _Not_ like us,” Hakyeon said venomously, hand reaching for the closest object it could find, glass salt shaker shattering into pieces.

“That’s bad luck,” Taekwoon said, eyes widening as his body jerked in surprise, colliding with the kitchen table.

“How much fucking _worse_ could it _get_?” Hakyeon growled, pretending not to notice the three faces sneaking glances in the doorway. “I gave him _everything_! I took him into my home! _Our_ home! And for _what_?” Hakyeon raged. “So he could jump ship at the first chance he got? So he could leave m…us behind? For _money_?”

“We don’t know every—“ Taekwoon tried, volume a little louder.

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter, Taekwoon! Because I would never have left any of you, even if someone had offered me the whole world. Because you…” he sighed, all the spirit leaving him as he slumped into a kitchen chair. “All of you are my world…” he trailed off, voice breaking as he rubbed at his eyes, commanding himself not to cry. Hongbin didn’t deserve his tears.

“We can’t all be you,” Taekwoon said, soft voice suddenly unbearably grating against Hakyeon’s eardrums.

“Get out,” Hakyeon said. “Get out!”

Taekwoon’s eyes widened again before he sagged, large body seeming much smaller as he sighed, stepping into the hallway without another word.

“Shit, does this mean we can’t get to the ramen?” Sanghyuk muttered from the hall.

“You could stand to lose some weight, you fucking giant,” Jaehwan hissed back.

Hakyeon regretted it. He regretted everything. He regretted ever setting eyes on Hongbin, soaked and shivering as he slid into Hakyeon’s café.

That’s what he got for showing kindness and compassion, for opening his home and his…no. _No_. He didn’t…he didn’t deserve any of Hakyeon’s thoughts.

He didn’t deserve them, but Hakyeon couldn’t help the maelstrom of unhealthy obsession.

The way Hongbin looked when he smiled, all sharp jawline and handsome charm. The way he awkwardly stumbled over his words when he was nervous, playing with his long fingers. The blush that darkened his cheeks when Jaehwan made unnecessarily dirty jokes.

The way he would curl into Hakyeon at night, sleeping body seeking warmth.

The note he had left behind, not even having the guts to tell Hakyeon himself.

“Hey, hyung,” Wonshik said cautiously, approaching Hakyeon like he were a wild animal, hands out as though to show they were empty.

“Morning, Shikkie,” Hakyeon muttered, despondent and yet somehow filled with venom.

“Ugh, did you want me to…” Wonshik gestured to the floor, the shattered glass and salt.

“I’ll get it later,” Hakyeon said, making no move to stand. “Make sure to wear slippers when you’re in here for a few days, in case there’s any glass left when I’m done.”

“Okay…” Wonshik trailed off awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Is there…is there anything I can—“

“Buy breakfast outside today,” Hakyeon said, fishing into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, pushing a few bills across the table and towards Wonshik. “And then go have fun somewhere with the others. I have some cleaning to do today, and I don’t want you getting in my way.”

Wonshik frowned, pressing a hand to his chest. “Since when did _I_ get in your way? I’m the good kid.”

“Go, Shikkie,” Hakyeon shooed, an actual smile making its way onto his face. “Before I make you stay and help me.”

“I’m gone,” Wonshik said quickly, snatching the money and making his exit.

Hakyeon turned his attention back to the table, running his fingers along the pattern of the wood grain. It seemed as though it was only safe to do things that were mindless. Thoughts were dangerous, and dark, and…violent.

Tanned hands wrapped around the column of a pale neck, squeezing tightly.

“Fuck,” Hakyeon muttered, fingers curling into a tight fist.

He was not a forgiving man.

And he had a very good memory.


	18. Winter forest at twilight (JiKook)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a HZD crossover because I felt like it. I don't think it's too hard to understand the gist without background, though.

More than pain, more than fear, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

Snowflakes fluttered through the branches silhouetted against the moonlight overhead, melting against the expanses of skin exposed to the elements and dampening his silks. His taxed body was shivering violently, but it hurt too much to curl in on himself and seek warmth.

The Carja were a people of the desert, and it had not snowed more than once a year in Jimin’s village. What used to be his village.

He would say he was lucky to have escaped with his life, were he not bleeding out in the snow after travelling for weeks with nothing but his bare hands and determination. There was only one fate for those who rejected the Shadow faith, and that was to have your blood spill across the sand. It must have felt something like this, only warmer. Maybe he should have stayed.

And yet.

Jimin could not follow the Shadows into the depths of hell, where he was sure they were going to lead. He would not listen to the Voice, or give in to its violent demands. Whatever it was, it was a false prophet. It was not the Sun, it was not divine, and he could not betray the One True Sun King, not when Sun King Avad had saved so many from torture and unnecessary bloodshed.

And now…now he would not even get to see the Sun one more time. Feel its heat on his skin.

The machines prowling the savage lands were different than those in the desert. They could hide themselves better, stalk their prey more easily than in the sand, where there was nowhere to escape his field of vision.

Jimin had managed to pierce its heart, but not before it very nearly pierced his.

Jimin’s eyes were drawn to movement, as foliage rustled and a figure of a man appeared before Jimin even had time to fear a scavenging machine. Men were often worse than machines, for there was no logic to their actions, no purpose.

It was difficult to make out features, but the splash of blue paint was prominent against a tanned cheek. He had heard stories…

Had he made it to the Nora’s Sacred Lands, after all? The futility of dying just when he had…

“You…Nora?” Jimin wheezed, breathing becoming more difficult as his body labored to make up for the leaking blood.

The man said nothing, approaching him swiftly and kneeling next to his body. A large hand pressed firmly against his wound, tearing the silks around it to examine the area.

“Please…the Sun…” Jimin managed, words slurring together as he began to lose consciousness. “My body…the Sun…”

And then nothing.

Followed by painful, consuming cold. Was this his punishment for leaving his homeland? Had the Sun abandoned him, after all?

When Jimin opened his eyes, he was sure that he must be condemned.

The hut was sparsely furnished, not even a rug or hide to cover the floor. The ceiling was ornamented with animal bones, tied together with straps of leather. A fire crackled lowly in the hearth.

Jimin looked down to find his body wrapped in several furs. Perhaps that explained the bare nature of everything else.

He let out a noise of surprise as heavy bootfalls approached the bed. The same splash of blue paint, but adorning a much younger cheek. The person who had saved him…was merely a boy. A young Nora boy with dark hair and dark eyes, tanned skin scarred in every place Jimin could see.

“You…” Jimin began.

The boy looked startled, as though he hadn’t expected Jimin to speak.

“You saved me. I…thank you. May the Sun forever light your path,” Jimin said, coughing a little at the dryness of his throat. His lips, too, were cracked from the cold. It was clear that this was not his home.

A rough wooden cup of water was thrust forward.

Jimin fought his way gently from the furs, hands trembling violently as they accepted the offering. It seemed as though he was bare, but the fact was not a surprising one. Silks were not made for machines and snow. Baring his skin was nothing new, just that it was usually to the face of the Sun and not the biting cold.

“Have I…are these Nora lands?” Jimin said hopefully, after taking a few small sips. “I had heard that the Nora did not leave their land, ever, but there are so many falsehoods among the truths that I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

The Nora boy said nothing, staring determinedly at the floor.

“Umm…” Jimin said uncertainly. “There…there were also stories of a woman…of how she has beaten the Shadows at every turn. If…if I might speak to her—“

The boy stiffened. His jaw worked as his teeth ground together, but still, he said nothing.

“ _Please_ ,” Jimin begged. “I must…I must speak to her.”

The boy opened his mouth. “They do not speak to outsiders. Or outcasts.” The last word was said with such bitterness that Jimin had no doubt the boy was referring to himself, even if he didn’t know what the term meant to the Nora.

“Wh…” Jimin shook his head. “No, they…they _have_ to listen, they—“

“Hate everything that is not like them.”

“But the woman—“

“Did the smart thing and left,” the boy said quietly.

Jimin slumped forward, his wound pulsing with agony. “Then all is lost.”

The boy sighed. “No, outsider. Under the Mother’s watch, all continues as usual.”

Jimin observed the boy as he stepped around his hut, settling on a crudely shaped wooden stool and fletching arrows like he could do it in his sleep.

“Why did you save me?” Jimin wondered.

The boy paused. “All life is sacred to the Mother,” he said robotically. “Besides, bandits don’t wear clothes like yours. They’d die real fast.”

Jimin huffed in amusement. “They don’t here. But in Carja territory…” he trailed off. “Ah, by the Sun. I miss home.”

“If you miss it, then why did you leave?”

“There’s…a bounty…” Jimin said carefully.

“On _you_?” the boy said, looking him up and down. “Surely an error.”

“No,” Jimin said sadly. “Though I wish it were so.”

“I see…” the boy muttered. “Perhaps we are not so different, outsider.”


	19. Under Your Wing (Chanyeol/Jimin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential content warnings in end notes

Jimin winced, eyes slamming shut as the soccer ball flew towards his face.

He was confused when, after a few moments, his nose remained un-bruised and un-bleeding.

“Yah,” a husky voice said, amusement clear in its tone. “You alright, Mr. Celebrity?”

Slowly, Jimin peeled his eyes open, heart still hammering against his rib cage as he stared up (and _up_ ) into the dark eyes of a handsome player. His hair curled at the ends where it sat on his head, giving him a boyish look despite his gargantuan height.

“Umm,” Jimin swallowed. “Y-yes, thank you. Thanks. I…umm…yeah.”

The man laughed, dropping the ball that he’d apparently caught and dribbling it back into the bounds of the field. Jimin watched, a little starry-eyed, as the man chastised the player who’d kicked the ball in the first place. “What the hell, bro? His face probably cost a million won.”

At that, Jimin frowned slightly, mood dropping.

He just wanted to help Namjoon’s charity, not be made fun of by handsome strangers.

“Mr. Park?” an older, athletically built man said, jogging over to where Jimin stood on the sidelines. “I’m Coach Choi, it’s great to have you! The guys are really excited to play the event, they love doing stuff for the kids.”

“Yeah,” Jimin smiled weakly. “I, umm, I’m glad to help in any way that I can. I played a bit in school, but I’m nowhere near as good as these guys, of course.”

“Hey, it’s no problem! We just gotta’ have you learn a few fancy tricks, and then you can sit out most of the time. Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m glad we got you for our team and not Mr. Kim. That man is a human disaster.”

Jimin snorted. “Oh, don’t worry, Namjoon hyung isn’t playing. He used his weight to set up the celebrity tournament, but he knows better than anyone to stay away from people and objects moving at high speeds.”

The coach laughed, slapping Jimin harshly on the back as he picked up the whistle hanging on a cord around his neck and blew into it harshly. “Park! Get your ass over here!”

Jimin was startled at first, thinking that the words were directed towards him. Soon, however, he realized that they were directed at the tall man who’d stopped the ball from smashing into his face.

“Ugh, am I in trouble?” the man said, appearing genuinely concerned as he scratched behind one prominent ear. “Look, if this is about those burritos, that was all totally Baekhyun—“

“Shut it, Park! I’m putting you in charge of this other Park for the near future. Teach him enough for him to survive a half, and I’ll give you three days off.”

“I mean, sure, but you’re technically the coach—“

“I’m busy planning for next season, Park! I don’t have time for games that don’t count!” the man barked. “No offense,” he added to Jimin.

Jimin shrugged awkwardly.

As the coach moved to yell at a few idle players, Jimin noticed that he was being scrutinized from above. The other Park must have been a few heads taller, at least.  Life really was unfair, sometimes. “Hey, so, Mr. Celebrity—“

“Umm…you can just call me Jimin…” Jimin said timidly.

“Right, so Mr. Celebrity Jimin—“

“Umm—“

“Can I maybe, like, get your autograph?” the other Park said suddenly, the words rushing out.

Jimin inhaled quickly, surprised. “You didn’t even know my name, but you want an autograph?”

“Well, ugh, I mean…” the man stuttered, cheeks flushing even over his sweaty glow. “My sister kinda’ has a picture of you up on her wall, and her birthday is next week,” he muttered. “I’m not really great at buying presents, but I thought…I don’t know, I’m sorry. It was dumb and rude. Sorry,” he sighed.

“Oh,” Jimin said, offering the man a small smile. “Then, of course. Don’t worry about it. I’ll sign whatever you want.”

“Really?” the man perked up, grinning widely. “Wow, thanks!”

“No-no problem,” Jimin said, taken aback by his enthusiasm.

“So, you, ugh, ready to play?” the other Park said, eyeing his clothes.

Jimin followed his gaze to his new sweatpants and sneakers, things he’d bought just to practice in. “Yes…?” Jimin said uncertainly. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“Oh! No! I just, I wasn’t sure if you were okay with getting your nice clothes dirty,” the other Park said sheepishly.

“It’s fine,” Jimin shrugged, feeling self-conscious as his shoulders hunched inward.

“Oh, shit, I made you feel bad. I’m sorry! Don’t feel bad, Mr. Celebrity Jimin! Look, let’s just, ugh, play some ball.”

“Sure, umm…what…is your name, exactly?”

“Oh, I’m Park Chanyeol!” the other man said happily, balancing the ball on his ankle as he took a few hops forward with his other leg. “Let’s see what you can do!”

Luckily, Jimin was in incredible shape from constant workouts and dancing. It didn’t completely make up for his lack of skill, but it made up for a lot. By the time Chanyeol waved at him to stop, they were both drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

“Wow, you’re great!” Chanyeol said, wiping at his forehead with the collar of his shirt. “Especially for being so…ugh…”

Jimin sighed. “I get it, okay? I’m girly, or I’m arrogant, or I’m plastic, or…” he trailed off. “I know that people don’t like me. They don’t know me at all, but they can’t wait to talk about how horrible I am.”

“I was just gonna’ say short?” Chanyeol said, plopping into the grass.

“Oh,” Jimin muttered.

“I don’t think that,” Chaneyeol said. “What I…what I said earlier, to Sehun, I was just joking…I don’t really think that way about you. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Jimin didn’t know how to respond to such genuine words. He was so used to things being sickeningly sweet and honey-coated. “Well…thanks…” he said softly.

“Seriously!” Chanyeol said. “I mean, you’re running your ass off for charity when you could probably be doing a million other things. And, you know, I can tell that you actually care. You could totally not even try, but you matched everything that I asked you to do. It’s true, I don’t know you, but I think that’s pretty great.”

“Thanks…” Jimin muttered, wiping at the sweat seeping into his eyes. He told himself the burning was just from the salt. “Do you think I could use your showers before I leave? My manager will yell at me if I make his car smell,” Jimin said.

“What? Really?” Chanyeol gasped. “I’d be totally screwed then, I pretty much always smell. It’s the nature of the game.” He hopped to his feet. “But, sure, I’ll show you the way!”

Jimin wrinkled his nose as soon as they stepped into the locker room. He had it lucky at his dorm in the fact that even though he lived with a handful of other men, Jungkook made sure the place always smelled clean. Unleashed before him was the reality of several dozen men sharing a space, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Back this way,” Chanyeol gestured, seemingly unaffected by the stench. “Did you bring shower stuff? You can use some of mine if you want.”

“That…that would be great,” Jimin said. “I didn’t think this through enough. I’ll make sure to bring my own stuff next time.”

“Ah, no problem!” Chanyeol said. “I look forward to next time!” He paused, as though just realizing something. “Ah, shit, I left my bag outside.” Reaching into a locker, he shoved a bottle into Jimin’s hands. “You go ahead and do your thing. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jimin felt intimidated by the cavernous nature of the shower room, but he finally urged himself into a stall and began undressing, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. He just felt out of place in the space that was meant for people on the team. It felt lonely without Chanyeol around.

After narrowly avoiding a scalding death, Jimin felt brave enough to step under the spray. It felt good to wash the sweat off, his muscles relaxing as he lathered some of Chanyeol’s shampoo into his hair.

He screamed as the curtain was wrenched back, someone dressed in black and wielding a camera stepping into the stall.

“What--?!” Jimin stuttered, back slamming into the wall as he covered himself with slippery arms. “Get out!”

Whoever it was didn’t listen, taking an almost tentative step forward, despite the water still spraying.

“Go away!” Jimin shouted, hating that his immediate reaction was to tear up, like tears had ever solved anything when it came to people like this. “Leave me alone,” he said, but it came out more like a whisper as he curled in on himself as much as he could.

“Yah!” Chanyeol growled, the bag he’d been carrying slipping from his shoulder to the ground as he grabbed the shirt of the person in the shower. He wrenched the intruder away from Jimin, the camera clattering to the wet floor as Chanyeol slammed the person into a bay of lockers.

Jimin wanted to move. He wanted to stand up, put his clothes on, and call for help, but he felt frozen. He couldn’t move at all, every muscle locked in place as he closed his eyes and tried to drown everything out.

He heard Chanyeol struggle with the person, and it was Chanyeol’s grunt of pain that finally got Jimin to open his eyes. The stranger fled the room as Chanyeol rubbed at his stomach.

“What the fuck?!” Chanyeol finally said, eyes settling on Jimin, who was very aware of his nakedness. But still, he couldn’t… “Okay, okay,” Chanyeol said, running a hand through his hair before grabbing a towel. He reached into the stall and turned off the shower before wrapping the towel around Jimin’s shoulders. “Man, are you okay? Who the _fuck_ was that?”

“I…ummm…” Jimin stuttered, voice cracking as he began to shiver. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Chanyeol looked shocked. “For what? Come on, let’s just…” He reached for another towel and began rubbing at Jimin’s hair. After a moment, he dropped the towel and reached for Jimin’s clothes, pulling Jimin’s shirt back on over his head. “Can you do the rest?”

Jimin nodded shakily, dragging his sweatpants up to his hips. “Thank…thank you, I…” he sighed, rubbing at his chest, which tightened painfully.

“Seriously, what the fuck just happened?” Chanyeol said harshly.

Jimin winced. “It, umm. It happens. It just…people can get…when you have a little fame…” Jimin struggled, blood running cold as he spotted the video camera.

Chanyeol followed his line of site, making a noise of disgust before reaching down to pull out the SD card and crush it. For good measure, he also stepped on the camera several times, large shoe cracking the screen and crushing some of its pieces. “Fucking weirdos,” Chanyeol muttered.

“Sorry,” Jimin said quietly, suddenly doubly as exhausted. “I just…froze. It felt like I couldn’t do anything at all, and then you—oh, no, did you get hurt?”

“No, come on, Mr. Cele…Jimin. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left you by yourself,” Chanyeol said remorsefully. “Whoever that dude was just got a lucky elbow in.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault!” Jimin protested.

“Then I think we both can agree on that,” Chanyeol said. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They didn’t, like, hurt you? Or anything?”

“I’m…” Jimin sighed. “I’ll live. But, you wanted me to sign something, right?”

“What?” Chanyeol said, confused.

“For your…sister?” Jimin said uncertainly, toweling his hair a little more.

“Oh,” Chanyeol said, shoulders drooping. “Nah, I think she’ll be okay.”

“But her birthday?” Jimin said.

Chanyeol shook his head. “Fame just tastes bad, all of a sudden. I’ll buy her a gift card or something.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stalker behavior


	20. It's tiny, isn't it? (Jikook)

“Ugh,” Jungkook grunted, confused and suddenly very warm. “What…what is that?”

Jimin jumped away from the mirror, startled, letting his tank top fall back in place. “Wh-what? What is what?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “I saw it, hyung.”

“You saw nothing!” Jimin insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, biceps tensing.

“Right…” Jungkook said. “That’s why you’re so defensive all of a sudden.”

“I’m not defensive!” Jimin said.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said warningly. “Did you seriously get a –“

“It’s not my fault!” Jimin suddenly wailed, pushing past Jungkook and out of the bathroom. “I…I didn’t mean to! But Taehyung was being an asshole, and I had a few drinks, and…” he trailed off, heaving a sad sigh. “You’re never gonna’ let me live this down, are you?”

Jungkook huffed in amusement at his hyung’s resignation. “Can I see it?”

Jimin frowned. “Why?”

“Because it has to be really embarrassing if you’re this determined to hide it from me,” Jungkook laughed.

“I hate you so much,” Jimin muttered, shaking his head.

“Well?” Jungkook prodded.

“Okay, but you _can’t_ tell Hoseok hyung about this!” Jimin begged. “He’d torture me!”

Jungkook held up a hand. “I solemnly swear.”

Jimin sighed again, his small fingers curling hesitantly around the hem of his shirt. Swallowing, he lifted it to just above his belly button.

Jungkook blinked, taking in the smooth expanse of tanned, toned skin, before his eyes settled on _it_.

“Huh,” Jungkook said.

“ _Huh_? That’s all you have to say about it?” Jimin complained.

“It’s, ugh…it’s cute,” Jungkook said, swallowing around his suddenly dry throat. Fuck. This was not the best way to discover that he had a thing for belly button piercings. “It…it suits you?”

“I…” Jimin began, looking as though he was about to argue, but quickly deflating. “You think so? But it’s not really manly, is it?” he said uncertainly, as though looking for validation.

“It’s a piece of metal stuck inside your flesh, that’s like the _manliest_ thing ever,” Jungkook shrugged. In truth, the little stud was probably proportionate in size with the rest of him.

Jimin seemed to perk up. “Y-yeah, you’re right! That is cool!”

Jungkook tried to suppress a smile at how easy his hyung changed his tune. “Did it hurt?”

“Probably,” Jimin shrugged. “But honestly, I was hammered, so I don’t really remember.” He let his shirt fall back down again. “It kinda’ stings now, though. It was really stupid to get this thing when I can’t take it out for dance practice.”

“But you’re…you’re taking care of it, right? You aren’t going to let yourself die of sepsis, or something?” Jungkook questioned.

“ _Yes_ , I’m taking care of it,” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Taking care of what?” Hoseok yawned, scratching at his stomach as he stepped into the hallway.

“Nothing!” they both said quickly.

Hoseok paused, staring between them. “Okay, what did you do?”

Jimin blanched and Jungkook looked around nervously.

“I, umm…” Jimin struggled. “I…ate…one of your protein bars?” he settled on. “I was going to go to the store to g-get some…more…” he finished lamely.

“Oh,” Hoseok said. “Get some ramen while you’re there.”

“Okay…” Jimin smiled weakly as Hoseok stepped around them and into the bathroom. “Oh man,” he sighed, pacing quickly to the living room.

“I just realized that we’re both terrible liars,” Jungkook said. “Good luck with hiding that thing. Wait. Doesn’t Taehyung already know about it?”

“Nah, he doesn’t remember a good five-hour block from that night.” Jimin said.

“Geeze, why’d you drink so much?” Jungkook said.

“Somebody else was paying,” Jimin shrugged. Frowning, he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Guess I have to go to the store now. You want anything, Kookie?”

For the last half hour to be erased so that he wasn’t walking around with that image of Jimin’s belly button in his head. “I’m good,” Jungkook said.

Jungkook sank into their old couch as Jimin left, the door slamming shut with a thud.

“So,” Hoseok said, approaching so quietly that Jungkook startled. “What’d you _really_ do?”

“Ummmm…” Jungkook said, panicked. Think. _Think_. What’s something that Jimin would have to take care of?

“Jungkookie,” Hoseok said in that fake-sweet tone of his, sidling up next to Jungkook on the couch. “If you touched my shoes again, I swear to fucking—“

“Jimin has a secret admirer!” Jungkook shouted. “So he was…taking care of it…”

Hoseok winced at the shout. “Oh? Again? Geeze, that kid. Attracts weirdos like flies.”

It was Jungkook. He was the weirdo. “Ha ha…” Jungkook said nervously. At least that sounded plausible.

“Why didn’t you guys just say that the first time?” Hoseok muttered.

“You know hyung is…self-conscious about these things,” Jungkook said stiffly. “He just wants to be…tough…or something.”

Hoseok snorted. “Yeah, I’m aware. But the reason he attracts the flies is because he’s the honey, you know. He should really just start working with what he was born with rather than trying to be something he’s not.”

Jungkook swallowed, his mind once again conjuring the image of the piercing and smooth skin. “I don’t know. I think there’s something to be said for accessorizing.”


	21. Be the Strong One (JiKook)

Jungkook sat slumped over his bowl of cereal, heaving a weighty sigh as his hair slipped into his eyes.

Jimin watched from the doorway, mustering up the courage to say something. Anything. He just desperately wanted Jungkook to feel better. To know what to say to make him feel better. So far, nothing had worked.

Jungkook loved going to the gym, but he hadn’t worked out in three weeks. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but instead of doing something about it, he just let the strands creep towards his shoulders and cover his ears. He was always bursting into song as the notes cycled through his head. For the past month, only silence.

His glowing skin turned sallow, losing its vigor.

Despite the food that was pushed in front of him, Jimin hadn’t seen him take a single bite.

Jimin was at a loss.

Jungkook wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. None of his friends knew, either. Only that he’d stopped playing games with his usual frequency.

It was in his nature to bottle. To hide away. To protect others first, while failing to protect himself.

He had always protected Jimin. From physical danger. From self-deprecation. From hurtful words and his inner monster.

If Jimin couldn’t even help Jungkook feel better, then what was his friendship worth?

“Morning, Kookie,” Jimin called, proud of himself for the bright tone he managed to force into his words.

“Ah, hyung,” Jungkook said lowly. “Why were you staring at me?”

Jimin blinked. “Umm. I wasn’t?”

Jungkook snorted, letting his spoon clatter to the table, his cereal soggy and untouched. “Whatever you say, hyung.” He pushed himself up.

“Wait!” Jimin said. “Do you, I mean, would you like to go shopping with me today?”

Jungkook stilled, an almost eerie state of immobility where it didn’t even look like he was breathing. “Too many people,” he finally said quietly, turning away.

“What about gaming?” Jimin practically shouted. “We could go to a PC room—“

“Not interested,” Jungkook muttered.

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jimin said desperately. “I just…” he sighed. “Please, I just want to spend some time together? Like we used to? You’ve…seemed so sad, lately, and I just…I…I’ll do anything to make it better.”

Jimin nearly took a step back when Jungkook’s shoulders began to tremble. But not from crying. He was…laughing.

“Make it better?” he huffed. “You _can’t_ make it better, you can’t—“ he cut himself off, pulling at his hair. “Just leave me alone.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Jimin pleaded. “If—if you’re depressed, we can—we can see a doctor—there’s medicine for that! Or y-you can talk to someone, even if it isn’t me! But you can’t keep doing this to yourself!”

Jungkook’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not _doing_ anything! I’m fine!”

“You’re such a liar! You don’t smile, you don’t eat, you don’t shower! You barely move anymore! So stop lying and—”

“ _Shut up_!” Jungkook growled, and Jimin was blinded by pain as his breath was stolen from him, back slamming into the wall hard enough to crack some of the plaster. “You don’t know _anything_!” Jungkook spat, pupils blown and lips curling into a snarl.

“J…” Jimin struggled, unable to raise his arms as Jungkook fisted handfuls of his shirt. “Jun…” he swallowed, squished lungs fighting to inhale. What…what was going _on_? Jungkook wasn’t this strong. No one was this strong!

“You and your _stupid_ smiles and your stupid—“ Jungkook hissed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he shook his head. “No…n-no!”

Jimin slumped to the floor, eyes wide and legs like jelly as Jungkook backed away from him, clutching his head like he was in pain. “No…” he continued to mutter, clawing lines of red up and down his arms.

“Kookie?” Jimin breathed.

Jungkook froze, that same unsettling stillness. “I’m s-sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t…I swear I didn’t mean to!”

“What the hell is going on?” Jimin whimpered, attempting to move but prevented by the amount of pain his spine was in.

“Fuck…fuck…” Jungkook breathed, taking gasping breaths in what looked like an attempt to calm himself down. He stiffened. “…Hyung…are you bleeding?”

Jimin swallowed. “I d-don’t know, I…it just hurts,” he managed.

“Fuck!” Jungkook growled, slamming his hand into the kitchen table, the heavy wood splitting in half and collapsing in on itself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he repeated.

“Kook—“

“I’m so hungry, hyung,” Jungkook said, suddenly two inches in front of Jimin’s face. Jimin would have jumped if he’d been able to move. “I’m…I’m _so_ hungry…” he said, eyes wide and imploring like he was begging Jimin to understand.

“Wha…” Jimin breathed, wincing as he adjusted himself on the floor. “Then why don’t you just eat?” he said fearfully, horribly confused and afraid.

“Because,” Jungkook said, voice small and heartbreaking. “I want to eat _you_.”


	22. Hold me close (HyuKen)

As someone who had always, for his entire life, been the big spoon, Jaehwan found Han Sanghyuk incredibly frustrating.

Jaehwan was tall. Jaehwan was broad. Jaehwan made girls swoon and boys jealous of his dazzling good looks.

The problem was that Sanghyuk was _taller_. Sanghyuk was _broader_. Sanghyuk was _handsome_. And, worst of all, Sanghyuk was practically a baby.

A clingy, cute fucking baby.

“Hyung,” Sanghyuk whined, muscled arms wrapped around Jaehwan’s waist, his chest pressed snugly to Jaehwan’s back.

“What?” Jaehwan practically shrieked, squirming from the heat of the embrace. “Hyukkie, I’m so hot that I’m dying! You’re literally killing me! As we speak, my life force is draining away into the void—“

“Hyungggg,” Sanghyuk said over him, arms squeezing him marginally tighter before releasing him. “Can’t you just be quiet for like two seconds and let me cuddle?”

“If you want to cuddle me, you should already know that it’s physically impossible for me to be quiet!” Jaehwan hissed, insulted. “Go sexually harass Taekwoon if you want to hug something stiff and silent.”

“Hyungggg,” Sanghyuk continued to whine, stamping his large foot on the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Jaehwan half-expected the earth to split open. “He’s already threatened to kill me in my sleep, and I believe him.”

“Hongbin?”

“He’s never around! Always off being a stupid model or surrounded by his fan club!”

“Okay, then what about Hakyeon hyung? I know for a fact he loves hugs.”

Sanghyuk shivered. “I want to cuddle for three minutes, not three hours.”

Jaehwan huffed, scoffing and dramatically flailing his arms. “A- _ha_! So what you’re saying is that I’m your last resort!” he accused, poking Sanghyuk in the chest but quickly withdrawing his finger when it met a wall of solid rock. “What the fuck are you made of?”

“That’s not true!” Sanghyuk said. “I could always cuddle Wonshikkie hyung if I wanted.”

“Oh…” Jaehwan said. “Well, why don’t you, then?”

“Cause I wanna’ cuddle you, hyung,” Sanghyuk said, taking a step forward into Jaehwan’s personal space. Jaehwan, not expecting the move, took an instinctual step backwards, his shoulders hitting the wall. He glanced nervously to the side, fingers tapping erratically against the thighs of his jeans at the same time as his left foot tapped against the linoleum.

Sanghyuk pressed his advantage, chest bumping against Jaehwan’s as Jaehwan flushed at the feeling of Sanghyuk’s breath on his cheeks.

“Wh-what the fuck?” Jaehwan said, not proud of the way his voice trembled. “I’ve gone crazy. I’m insane. Certifiable. Because there’s no way this is—“

A long, warm, finger pressed against Jaehwan’s lips, and his jaw clamped shut in surprise.

“It’s definitely true that you’re the boniest,” Hyuk said, laughing lightly at the insulted expression that flitted across Jaehwan’s face. “It can be a little challenging with all the angles. But you’re also so cute, hyung.”

“Forget Taekwoon, I think _I’ll_ be the one to fucking murder your ass,” Jaehwan said through clenched teeth. “Even…even though it’s undeniably true that I am the cutest of them all…” Jaehwan muttered. “Scientific, objective fact.”

Sanghyuk leaned in until he was bent over slightly, resting his ear against Jaehwan’s chest and closing his wide brown eyes. “Just a few minutes, hyung?”

Jaehwan sighed, rolling his eyes but bringing his arms up to wrap around Sanghyuk’s shoulders. Instead of talking, he began to hum. He didn’t have much of a choice. It was virtually impossible for him to sit still, his body perpetually vibrating with energy.

Sanghyuk sighed heavily into his chest, but it sounded like a pleased noise rather than an irritated one. “’s your life force hanging on okay?” Sanghyuk mumbled, words slurred as his cheek was squished against Jaehwan.

“Screw social propriety, you’re buying me ice cream,” Jaehwan said, sweat beading on his forehead and neck, running into his collar. “ _Three_ scoops.”

“Didn’t you always take that girl to get ice cream?” Sanghyuk said, voice gravelly and annoyed. “I’m not the same as her.”

“Of course you aren’t, you fucking behemoth,” Jaehwan muttered into Sanghyuk’s hair. “Honestly, you used to be at least a foot shorter than me. What did you eat? Have you come across any radioactive spiders? Gamma radiation? This isn’t natural. Have you even seen a doctor about—“

Sanghyuk straightened suddenly, nose brushing against Jaehwan’s as Jaehwan blinked in surprise. “It wasn’t magic or superpowers, hyung. My bones grew a foot in a few months. It hurt a lot, you know. I don’t know if you ever got growing pains, hyung, but they aren’t fun.”

Jaehwan frowned, reaching out to press his hands against Sanghyuk’s cheeks. “My poor baby.”

Sanghyuk’s lips pressed into a pout. “I’m not a baby.” Still, he didn’t try to remove Jaehwan’s hands.

Jaehwan quirked an eyebrow. “You write your name on the inside of your underwear.”

Sanghyuk gasped. “How’d you know that?”

Jaehwan smirked. “I didn’t, but everyone is now going to, hot stuff.”

Sanghyuk frowned, emitting a low sound that sounded eerily like a growl.

Jaehwan screamed as Sanghyuk hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Jaehwan at eye level with Sanghyuk’s ass as he hung upside down. “Han Sanghyuk!” Jaehwan yelled. “What the fuck?!”

“Who’s the baby now?” Hyuk said, and Jaehwan could hear the laughter in his tone.

“This proves nothing!” Jaehwan screamed as Hyuk began to move. “This is a cheap way of establishing dominance, and you still WRITE YOUR NAME ON YOUR UNDER—“

Sanghyuk jostled Jaehwan, readjusting his position on his shoulder and causing Jaehwan to let out a high-pitched yelp.

“Okay! Shit! Okay! I’m the baby!” Jaehwan folded.

The blood rushed to his head as Sanghyuk settled him back on his feet, grinning evilly. “C’mon, baby. I owe you some ice cream.”


	23. I'm used to it (JiHope)

Jimin sighed, more in annoyance than pain, fingertips brushing lightly against the bruise that painted his cheekbone. Muttering under his breath, he took a swig from the beer bottle clutched tightly in his other hand.

Someone slid into the stool next to him, but Jimin didn’t bother to look over. There was only ever one person willing to talk to him after—

“Ouch,” Hoseok winced, eyeing his face. “I’m guessing he heard about the shipment?”

Jimin huffed, mouth twisting as he focused on the condensation of the bottle.

“Is anything broken?” Hoseok continued, signaling the bartender for his own drink.

“Don’t think so,” Jimin said quietly. “Would hurt more than this.”

“Mm,” Hoseok said, clasping his fluttering hands on the counter, as though to cage them in.

They sat in silence for the moment, letting the low garble of the other patrons cushion their thoughts. Jimin winced as he shifted on the stool, ribs aching under the perfect press of his suit shirt.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hoseok finally said, turning his body to more directly face Jimin.

“I know,” Jimin said.

“Do you?” Hoseok said, eyebrow quirked as Jimin’s hand tightened around the glass.

“What do you want me to say?” Jimin frowned, voice tinged with irritation. “It doesn’t matter if it was my fault, your fault, anyone’s fault. Either way, I’d rather he takes out on me. I’m used to it.”

Hoseok sighed, tension apparent in the way he rolled his neck, flexed his shoulders. “Do you like playing the martyr, Jimin?”

“I’m not _playing_ anything,” Jimin hissed, sliding from his stool and holding in a pained sound as he threw money on the bar. “Fuck you, Hoseok.”

Jimin was halfway down the block before Hoseok caught up to him, gently catching his hand. Jimin came to a stop, glancing up at Hoseok out of the corner of his eye as he pulled his hand away. “Don’t do stuff like that in public.”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said, and Jimin could tell that it was for more than just capturing his hand. “I know…I know you would never want…”

“It’s fine,” Jimin shrugged.

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Hoseok said. “None of this is fine.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you…you wanna’ come back to my place?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “I…I don’t know if…” His brother might actually kill him. But it had been such a long time since someone had held him.

“I want to make sure you’re alright,” Hoseok said softly. “You normally get a few days off, after…right?”

Jimin hesitated. “What if—“

“Please?” Hoseok said, that look of concern haunting his expression.

Jimin swallowed, nodding. His pathetic need for even a semblance of care was his greatest weakness. Besides, Hoseok wouldn’t tell anyone. His own life would be on the line, too.

“Make yourself at home,” Hoseok said, throwing his blazer over a chair and his keys into a small dish on the coffee table.

Jimin looked around, irrationally nervous standing in Hoseok’s living room. He watched as Hoseok loosened his shoulder holster, hanging the holster and his gun on a hook on the wall that was probably meant for coats. Jimin slowly slipped off his own jacket, face scrunching in pain as his ribs pulsed with agony.

Hoseok quickly hurried over, helping him out of it. “Hey, take it easy, tough guy,” Hoseok chided, laying Jimin’s jacket on top of his own. “I’ll go get some ice.”

“It-it’s fine,” Jimin said, shaking his head. “Really.”

Hoseok frowned. “It’s more for me than for you, Jimin. I’m too much of a softy to see you in pain.”

Jimin managed to hide the flush until Hoseok turned his back. Jimin had seen Hoseok torture people. With a smile on his face. Softy? Ridiculous.

“Here we are,” Hoseok said, carrying a bowl filled with ice and a few rags. “Take your shirt off so I can ice your ribs?”

“Really, hyung, if you wanted to fuck me, I would let you, you know,” Jimin said tiredly. “You already convinced me to come here, you don’t have to pretend—“

“Jimin,” Hoseok said, sighing fondly. “I would love to fuck you, but I’m going to save that until you can do it right without groaning in pain every five seconds. I want active participation, here.”

“Oh,” Jimin said, blinking dumbly as Hoseok’s long fingers began attacking the buttons on his shirt. “You…really?”

“Just how much of an asshole do you think I am?” Hoseok chuckled. “And you were planning to sleep with me anyway?”

Jimin ducked his head. “It helps to keep my mind off of other things.”

“Replace the bad pain with good, huh?” Hoseok said, tanned hands brushing over Jimin’s sides as they felt for fractures or breaks. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t tried it. I’d also be lying if I said it actually worked. You still gotta’ face the bad in the morning.”

“You’d think differently if you had to live with him,” Jimin said, gasping at a painful press. “I have to take every reprieve I can get.”

Hoseok grunted absently, wrapping a few chunks of ice in a towel and pressing it to Jimin’s side. “Poor baby,” he said, as Jimin’s eyes watered. “If I had a baby brother like you, I’d wrap him up in bubble wrap and never let him go.”

“Please, don’t give him any ideas,” Jimin smiled wryly.

Hoseok smiled and reached out to stroke Jimin’s hair, his hand smoothing down until it rested on Jimin’s cheek, thumb brushing his bruised cheekbone. “My poor baby,” Hoseok repeated.

Something about the way he said it, possessive and dark, sent goosebumps crawling up Jimin’s spine.

“I’m not a baby,” Jimin grumbled, pushing his hand away.

“Of course,” Hoseok said lightly, wrapping more ice in another rag and pressing it to Jimin’s face. “You can have my bed tonight, and I’ll take the couch. You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

“I can’t do that—“ Jimin argued.

“You can, and you will,” Hoseok said. “You’ll be warm, and you’ll be comfortable, and you’ll be safe. That’s all that matters to me. I’d take advantage while I’m offering it, I don’ just let anyone in there, you know.”

Jimin sighed, shivering as the ice began to hurt where it pressed into his skin. What was one pain on top of another?


	24. Let me help you (JiKook)

Jungkook wiped a streak of dirt from his cheek, frowning when he pulled his hand away smeared with red. “Well, shit,” he sighed, swatting at the branches that reached for him from above.

“You’re going to attract wild animals,” Yoongi muttered, sweat rolling off of his own pale forehead.

“Isn’t that what we’re out here for?” Jungkook joked, readjusting the rifle where it was slung over his shoulder.

“I’d much rather eat them than the other way around,” Yoongi muttered.

The expedition was running low on supplies, and Jungkook wasn’t surprised. City people rarely packed adequately, rarely acted appropriately, and generally complained about everything. But it wasn’t his place to say anything about it. He was there to guide and to hunt, and the rest was their own business.

“Wait,” Yoongi hissed, brow furrowing as he closed his eyes.

“What is it?” Jungkook said uncertainly.

“This way,” Yoongi said, waving Jungkook forward. Yoongi readied his rifle, and Jungkook mirrored him, swallowing thickly in the heavy humidity.

They inched deeper into the thick foliage, Jungkook on edge as he recognized tracks in the dirt as those of a large predator animal. Yoongi’s steps were virtually silent, while the larger Jungkook made a lot more noise as his boots crunched against dead leaves.

“There’s something—“ Yoongi said, raising the barrel of the gun.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, using his free arm to push some branches out of the way. He nearly dropped his weapon at the sight that greeted them. “Hyung, it’s a person!”

“Stay back,” Yoongi hissed. “They could be dangerous.”

Jungkook frowned uncertainly. The person lying on the forest floor certainly didn’t _look_ dangerous. They were small in stature, wearing clothes that were tattered and barely covered their scarred skin. A shirt gaping with holes, and cargo shorts practically black with grime.  Most worryingly, they were bleeding heavily from their calf, a metal clamp with pointed spikes digging painfully into their skin. “They’re hurt,” Jungkook said, taking a few steps forward.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi said warningly, grip on his gun tightening.

“You know we can’t leave them like this,” Jungkook said, eyes combing the still body for further injury. He knelt, the moist dirt seeping into the knees of his pants as he reached out to lightly brush the shoulder of the body, which he could now recognize was male.

The person twitched violently under his touch, brown eyes shooting open and filled with fear as he attempted to scramble away. Jungkook quickly reached out to capture the man’s arms and hold him down against the ground. “Hey, if you move, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Jungkook said worriedly.

The man continued to struggle, panicked, and Jungkook had the sinking feeling that he didn’t understand what Jungkook was saying.

“Hey…” Jungkook tried, more gently, like he was coaxing an animal to come closer. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you. I just want to take a look at your leg. I want to help. Please let me help, huh?”

The boy’s brow furrowed with confusion, but some of the fear lessened at Jungkook’s soft tone.

Jungkook slowly eased his hands away, holding them up placatingly as the boy watched him with uncertain worry, scrunching his face in pain.

Jungkook looked down at the metal clamp, never having seen an exact copy, but recognizing it as similar to those meant to trap animals. Jungkook would never hunt this way, leaving his prey to suffer for an indeterminate amount of time before anyone got around to checking the traps. The only way to kill was quick and clean.

Judging by the dirt-covered metal, the boy had dug the trap from the ground after getting caught. Jungkook reached out to investigate the trap, but the boy flinched away, fingernails scrabbling in the detritus. “Hey, it’s okay,” Jungkook said, trying to keep the boy’s attention on him as his eyes flicked to Yoongi. “I’m just going to figure out how to open this,” Jungkook said. “You want it off, right? This can’t feel too good.”

The boy whimpered as Jungkook brushed his fingers over the metal, feeling for pressure triggers or loosened joints. “Shit, this thing is well made,” Jungkook sighed. “I think I’m going to need pliers.” He frowned, looking into the boy’s watery eyes and chewed up bottom lip. “You’re going to have to come back with us.”

“What? No way!” Yoongi protested, causing the boy to tremble.

“Hyung, we can’t just leave him here! You saw the tracks just like I did, there are predators in this area. If we leave him here, his blood will attract them, and he’ll die.”

“We don’t know anything about this kid! Where the hell did he come from, all the way out here? This could be a trick to get us to let our guard down!”

“You really think someone would cripple themselves in a trap just on the off chance that someone would wander all the way out here?” Jungkook said skeptically.  His attention was drawn back to the boy as he whined in pain, attempting to scramble back away from them. “Hey, no, come on, it’s okay. I’m not mad. We’re not mad.”

The boy’s labored breathing quickened to a frightening extent, and soon his eyes rolled back into his head, his body going limp against the dirt and leaves.

“Probably lost too much blood,” Yoongi sighed.

“We have to help him,” Jungkook said, reaching under the boy’s body and lifting him up, holding him tightly to his chest. He weighed no more than a child or the average doe.

“What? That’s not our responsibility,” Yoongi said.

“Fine, then it’s _mine_ ,” Jungkook said, carefully adjusting his hold on the boy to avoid the trap. “It’s mine.”


	25. Call me a Sinner (VMin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Prostitution

Jimin sighed as a pair of baleful brown eyes peeked at him from just over the edge of the counter. “Can I help you, Taehyung?”

“Right, so, ugh…we may have left a mess,” Taehyung said, cheeks tinged pink and a thin mist of sweat beading on his forehead. He stood from where he’d been squatting, bath robe falling loosely from one shoulder. The edge of a purple hickey peeked from just under the fluffy collar.

“ _Again_?” Jimin frowned, setting down the guest book he’d been transcribing into the computer system. “Which room?”

“438,” Taehyung muttered, ducking his head.

“I’m charging it to your _guest’s_ card,” Jimin said, scribbling the number on a sticky note.

“But umm…” Taehyung said. “Is there any way you could… _not_ do that?”

“No!” Jimin huffed. “Pick a different hotel to stay at, then!”

“This is barely a hotel,” Taehyung said, eyes flicking to the bright pink _LOVE NEST_ sign hanging over the lobby.

“Don’t come back, then,” Jimin sniffed, walking around the counter to reorganize the snacks and…other things available for purchase in front of the desk.

“Aw, come on, Jiminnie!” Taehyung wheedled. “I can’t lose this guy, he hits me up at least once a week.”

“A client who can’t afford to pay for the damage he does to _my_ hotel isn’t worth your time,” Jimin said.

“They like it when I get all big and bad and rough,” Taehyung whined. “It was an accident!”

Jimin scoffed. “ _You_? Big and bad? And I don’t care if it was an accident or on purpose! It still happened and somebody is still paying for it.”

“Ugh,” Taehyung groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re really bad at getting on people’s good sides, aren’t you?” Jimin said.

The air was forced from his lungs as Taehyung spun him around, back pressed painfully into the check-in desk. Taehyung was practically on top of him, their noses centimeters apart as he pushed his knee lightly against Jimin’s groin. “Jiminnie,” Taehyung said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “There are other ways I could pay you back.”

Heat flared in Jimin’s gut for the briefest of moments before he rolled his eyes, centered by the pain radiating from various points on his body. “Except I know exactly where your hands and parts have been,” Jimin said, pushing Taehyung back and meeting no resistance as the boy gave to the pressure. “Besides, I have a boyfriend.”

“You mean the one that gave you that shiner a few weeks ago?” Taehyung said softly.

Jimin stiffened, returning to his place behind the counter. “That’s none of your business. And that was a rowdy customer.”

“You’re such a liar, Jiminnie,” Taehyung sighed, rubbing at his bare shoulder. “Ah, well, I tried. Offer’s still open any time you want it. There’s a reason I’m highly sought after, you know.”

“You are until you open your mouth,” Jimin muttered.

“Even _more_ after that,” Taehyung said, offering him a salacious wink.

“Gross,” Jimin said, grimacing. He glanced at the clock on the computer display. “Your three hours are almost up, by the way.”

“Such a hardass!” Taehyung groaned. “And I’m pretty confident when I say that, cause I’ve spent a long time staring at it.”

“Can you be a normal human being for like two seconds?” Jimin sighed.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Taehyung laughed.

“Jimin-ah?” a deep voice called, and both Jimin and Taehyung turned their heads to the front door, which had been stealthily opened.

“Hyung?” Jimin perked up, feeling strangely guilty. “What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t get away from work till later tonight.”

“My schedule cleared up,” Namjoon said, glancing between the two of them with a questioning look. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, no one, just—“

“Kim Taehyung!” Taehyung said, sauntering over to Namjoon with his usual painted smirk. “I’m a regular.”

“A regular,” Namjoon repeated, brow furrowed.

“Taehyung!” Jimin hissed, anxiety expanding to press tightly against the walls of his chest.

“I fuck a lot of people here,” Taehyung said bluntly. “Speaking of which, I should probably grab my stuff before hardass over here kicks me out.” Taehyung turned on his heel, robe fluttering in his wake.

Jimin sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead at Namjoon’s scandalized expression. “Sorry about him.”

“I thought you said this place was for honeymooners,” Namjoon said, approaching the counter.

“It is,” Jimin said. “It also…rents by the hour.”

“See, you left that part out,” Namjoon said.

“It’s not like I’m renting the rooms for myself!” Jimin said, annoyed. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because I don’t like that you’re exposed to these kinds of people,” Namjoon said, expression hardening.

“Whoring isn’t contagious,” Jimin sighed. “It’s just another way people make a living.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon said darkly.

“I still have a few hours left on my shift, anyway,” Jimin said, suddenly nervous. “I’ll see you back at home.”

“Jimin, can’t you just quit?” Namjoon said, eyes softening. “You know I have more than enough to support both of us.”

“Besides the fact that I’d be completely bored out of my mind?” Jimin said incredulously. “I don’t want you to support both of us. I want _us_ to support both of us.”

“You’re so ridiculous!” Namjoon said, fist making a loud sound as it struck the marble countertop. Jimin felt his heart attempt to leap out of his chest. It was true. He was ridiculous. Why was he so nervous? Namjoon just wanted the best for him. That was what he always wanted. It’s not like Namjoon would ever mistreat him. He never had.

“Yah,” Taehyung said, face dark as he bodily shoved Namjoon backwards and away from the counter. “The fuck is your problem, man?”

Namjoon’s face morphed from surprised to disbelieving to incredibly pissed off. “ _Me_? What’s _your_ problem?”

“You. Threatening my friend,” Taehyung said simply.

“D-don’t—“ Jimin tried to de-escalate the situation, but he was ignored.

“I wasn’t _threatening_ my significant other,” Namjoon said, fingers curling into fists. “We were having an adult conversation.”

“Then explain that terrified look on his face,” Taehyung said. “That’s not who he is! He only gets like that when you’re around! The Jimin I know is funny and smart and sweet, but when you’re here, he shuts down! That’s bullshit!”

Namjoon hesitated, face conflicted as he glanced between Taehyung and Jimin. “Wh…what? Is that true?”

“No! Joon, just—“ Jimin swallowed. “We’ll talk about when I get home, okay?”

Namjoon opened his mouth, as though to say something, but then decided against it, shaking his head. “Fine.” He left without another word.

“What the fuck was that?!” Jimin yelled.

“See?” Taehyung pointed out. “You aren’t real when he’s around. I think you need to start asking yourself why that is.”

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Fighting arcade horror monsters (JiKook)

“Jungkook?” Jimin called uncertainly, hand shaking as he pushed against the metal door of the warehouse. It gave with a groan, falling inwards to reveal the spare lighting of the warehouse interior. “J-Jungkook?” Jimin repeated. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

Jimin and Jungkook normally walked home together after class, but instead Jimin had gotten a message from Jungkook telling him to meet him at an address. What was even stranger was that Jungkook hadn’t even gone to school that day, his seat empty when Jimin stopped by his classroom at lunch. Nothing about this made any real sense, but if Jungkook needed him, then Jimin would be there.

“Jungkook, are you in here? You said to meet inside…hello?” Jimin inched further into the sweltering warehouse, eyes darting to darkened corners.

His attention was caught at a noise, a chime that reminded him distinctly of the sound made by idling pinball machines to attract attention. Jimin exhaled shakily as he followed his ears, kicking up clouds of dust as he maneuvered past unlabeled boxes and objects covered by tarps. “What am I even doing?” Jimin sighed, frowning as the side of his arm scraped against something rough. “Jungkook, I’m going to murder you if this is a prank.”

Jimin coughed to clear some of the grime from his throat, sweat spilling down his back as he finally squeezed past two boxes to find the source of the noise. It was a machine, just as he had expected, but not one that he’d ever seen before. It glowed softly, not bright enough to light any of the rest of the room. “Jungkook?” Jimin said nervously, spotting Jungkook’s black backpack leaning against one of the metal legs. That proved that he had been there, at least. “Jungkook, where are you?” Jimin said, supporting himself by leaning a hand against the machine.

He startled as the metal vibrated under his fingertips.

“Wha--?” he gasped, stumbling backwards as the machine came to life. Bright red lights ran up and down its surface, dark glass screen filling with color and text that Jimin couldn’t make heads or tails of. He took a hesitant step towards the game machine, running his fingers over the foreign buttons and levers. Is this what Jungkook wanted to show him?

His stomach lurched as his hand was drawn to press against the glass screen of its own volition. “Ugh,” Jimin struggled, trying to remove it, but only succeeding in wrenching his shoulder. “What the hell?”

And then Jimin watched, horrified, as his hand sank into the screen, enveloped by a painful cold like it was surrounded by liquid nitrogen. Jimin pulled and pulled, but his arm was only suctioned in deeper. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t happening.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling onto his cheeks as his resistance was overwhelmed.

And then nothing.

He opened his eyes to humidity and heat, his face pressed into a cushion of leaves and damp earth.

“Jimin?” a voice hissed. “Jimin, wake up!”

Jimin jerked, sitting up abruptly and looking around him with wild, wide eyes. “Jungkook?!”

“Yeah…” Jungkook sighed, collapsing next to Jimin and looking him over. “Are you okay, hyung?”

“I—“ Jimin said, practically hyperventilating. “I don’t know, where—where is this place? How did I get here?” His gaze was drawn to the long horizontal slice on Jungkook’s cheek. “Are _you_ okay?”

“This…is going to sound crazy, but…I think we got sucked into that machine. And what are you even doing here? How did you find it?”

“You sent me a text message telling me to go there!” Jimin said.

“No…” Jungkook shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t.”

Jimin frowned, wiping his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. “But, no, I got one!” He reached into his pockets and pulled out his cell phone. There was no signal, but he showed Jungkook his text message history. “See? You said…”

“Hyung, that wasn’t me,” Jungkook insisted. “I dropped my phone when I got pulled in.”

“So, what, someone…tricked me into going there? But why?” Jimin whispered.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook sighed again. “But they wanted us in here, for whatever reason.”

“Where is _here_?” Jimin said, voice wavering.

The sound of a branch snapping had Jungkook immediately on edge. He hopped to his feet, reaching to down to haul Jimin to his own. “We need to move.”

“Wh-why?” Jimin said, not sure that he wanted to know the answer.

“Come on,” Jungkook insisted, pulling Jimin further into the brush. At the snap of another branch, he yanked Jimin down into the nearest cover, behind the base of a massive tree. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Jimin said.

Jungkook, held a finger to his lips and pointed with his other hand, to the clearing in front of them.

Jimin watched, terrified, as something dark and mechanical lumbered its way into the space. He quickly pressed both hands over his mouth to stifle a whimper, eyes wide as more _things_ and human-like figures followed. They lingered briefly, working in a grid pattern before moving on, the snapping sounds following the deeper into the woods.

“What the fuck?” Jimin managed, hand unconsciously seeking Jungkook’s jacket and squeezing tightly. “What the _fuck_?”

“To answer your question, I think we got pulled into the game, hyung,” Jungkook said, peeling Jimin’s fingers from his clothes and holding them instead, in an attempt to warm the digits frozen from shock and panic. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. It was bad enough that I’m in here, but whoever it was wanted to hurt you, too.”

“But…” Jimin breathed, heart racing. “How…How is any of this possible? How do we get out?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Jungkook sighed. “I’ve just been avoiding those guys. I had to watch as they tore someone like us, someone real, apart.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jimin said, pressing the heel of his free hand into his eyes to stem the tears.

“We’ll make it, hyung,” Jungkook said, though he himself sounded uncertain. “But…this is a game. So…that means to get out, to finish it, we have to beat it, right? We just need to figure out what the rules are.”


	27. Is it there? (I.M./Hyungwon)

Hyungwon sighed, slumping into his makeshift chair as the sun beat down on the set. It was getting more and more difficult to comply with the photographer’s demands as his vision grew hazy and his body hot.

It was agency policy to fast for a few days before shoots, to make sure the models looked their sharpest, but Hyungwon was really feeling the effects that day. He was a relatively tall man, but to stay competitive in the industry, he had to be as thin as possible. It was a matter of survival.

“You look like you could use this.”

Hyungwon was startled from his daze by a slim hand clutching a granola bar and a bottle of water. Hyungwon glanced up to find a smiling member of the crew, a handsome young man who’d been dealing with lighting all day. Hyungwon ducked his head, accepting the water and ignoring the granola bar.

The man frowned. “We’ve been at this for eight hours, you should eat something.”

“I’m fine,” Hyungwon waved off, stifling a yawn as he retracted his hand.

The man pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “Hyungwon-ssi!” announced an unnervingly cute voice. “Pretty please eat it?” the man continued, fluttering his eyelashes. “Changkyunnie will be sad if you don’t!”

Hyungwon stared. “Does that…normally work?”

“Eh, whether people like it, or they beg me to stop, it gets the job done,” the man snickered.

Hyungwon huffed in amusement, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead and internally groaning over the thought of messing up his makeup.

“Yah! Toad!” the photographer called, fiddling with his equipment. “Come over here!”

Hyungwon closed his eyes and sighed, climbing slowly from the chair as his joints ached, ignoring the internal sting of the name-calling. “Ah, yes.”

Changkyun’s eyes narrowed again. “I don’t like that guy.” He made no effort to lower his volume.

“Yah, you apparently don’t like having a job, either,” Hyungwon said lowly.

For some reason, that statement seemed to amuse the other man. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

Hyungwon shook his head as he made his way towards the photographer, standing still and trying not to flinch as the man roughly adjusted his clothes and hair. “Get over there,” the man dismissed him, directing him back to the stone sculptures and plot of flowers he’d been posing in. Hyungwon laid down carefully in the grass, trying to avoid crushing any of the blossoms.

He moved his arms, turned his head, and periodically schooled his expression, letting his body go through its motions and hoping it would be enough to satisfy the picky man behind the camera.

Hyungwon blinked slowly awake as a blade of grass tickled his cheek, Changkyun smiling over him. “Did I fall asleep?” Hyungwon said, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Well, either that, or you passed out because you didn’t eat that granola bar,” Changkyun said, pulling away and collapsing onto the grass next to him. “Ahh, so hot,” he complained, fanning himself.

“Where…?” Hyungwon said, looking around to see most of the equipment being packed up. “Are we done?”

“Mmm,” the man hummed.

“Shouldn’t…you be helping with that?” Hyungwon said, puzzled.

Changkyun shrugged. “Perks of being the spoiled chaebol grandson.”

“Oh,” Hyungwon nodded slowly, voice monotone. “Nice.”

“See, I knew I liked you,” Changkyun grinned, jumping to his feet.

“But I didn’t do anything?” Hyungwon said.

“Your…I mean, _our_ next jobs are definitely going to be inside. What if I get a sunburn? This is unreasonable,” Changkyun muttered.

“I’ll be going, then,” Hyungwon said absently, the image of his comfortable bed already the central focus of his mind. He stumbled to his feet, brushing dirt and stray leaves from his overly-ripped jeans. “It was nice working with you. Good, umm, light handling.”

“Yah!” Changkyun barked, startling Hyungwon, who was sure that the other was younger and shouldn’t be using informal speech. “Pay attention to me!”

Hyungwon hesitated at the commanding tone. “Did you want something from me?”

Changkyun’s cheeks reddened. “Dinner?”

“Oh,” Hyungwon said, still confused. “Okay, I can make you something.” He shuffled towards the makeup trailer, more than ready to shed the uncomfortable clothes.

“That…that’s not what I…” Changkyun stuttered, sighing before following after him. “Well, good enough.”

Hyungwon felt Changkyun’s eyes on him as they walked to the nearest station, as they rode to the stop nearest Hyungwon’s apartment, as Hyungwon unlocked the door with trembling fingers. Not from nerves, but from lack of food.

“Invite many coworkers home with you?” Changkyun questioned, toeing off his sneakers.

“No,” Hyungwon mumbled, reaching for his refrigerator.

“So I’m _special_?” Changkyun prodded.

Hyungwon remained silent, lost in thought as he considered his spare shelves. Sighing, he pulled out the last of the kimchi, zucchini slices, and mushrooms. “This…?” he said hesitantly, showing the ingredients to Changkyun, who was resting his hip against Hyungwon’s table as he looked around the small space.

“What about it?” Changkyun said, eyeing the small amount of food.

“What I normally eat…” Hyungwon trailed off. “Will it be enough for you?”

Changkyun frowned. “Hold on.” He turned on his heel, slipping his shoes back on and leaving the apartment.

Hyungwon sighed, putting the vegetables back into the fridge. More than being hungry, he was just tired.

His bed was only a few feet away from the small kitchen, and it was impossible to resist.

Hyungwon stirred at the smell of meat permeating the air. Meat? He never had meat. He opened his eyes, sitting up slowly. Changkyun was humming softly in the kitchen as he fiddled with pots and pans Hyungwon wasn’t sure even belonged to him. He turned to glance over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw that Hyungwon was awake.

“You cooked?” Hyungwon said, shuffling back into the kitchen.

“You’re pretty when sleeping, Hyungwon-ssi,” Changkyun sighed wistfully. “I made chicken.”

“It’s my job to be pretty,” Hyungwon shrugged, eyeing the table as Changkyun added several plates of chicken, rice, and noodles. “I miss carbs,” Hyungwon sighed.

“Eat, then,” Changkyun said.

Hyungwon frowned. “I can’t.”

“Chicken, then,” Changkyun sighed, placing a heaping portion on a plate. “Protein.”

Hyungwon nodded, accepting the plate gratefully, pretending that he didn’t nearly drop it from the unsteadiness of his hands. “Thank you.”

“It’s more for my own peace of mind, so that you don’t blow over in the wind during next week’s photoshoot.”

“It won’t be inside?” Hyungwon said absently, chopsticks resting against his bottom lip.

“It was a figure of speech, meant to convey my sincere concern for your apparent lack of health,” Changkyun deadpanned.

“Oh,” Hyungwon said. “I’m fine.” His eyes were drawn back to his bed.

Changkyun looked unconvinced, but his tension seemed to ease the more Hyungwon ate. “Is it there?” Changkyun said.

“Hmm?” Hyungwon said.

“What you keep thinking about. Is it your bed?” Changkyun said, eyes bright.

“Ah,” Hyungwon smiled lazily. “You could tell?”

Changkyun considered him for a moment, but said nothing. Hyungwon wondered if he should be worried by the other’s devious expression.

“I have a big bed in my apartment,” Changkyun finally said lightly. “You should come see it sometime.”

“Oh,” Hyungwon said, already fighting back his eyelids falling shut. “Sounds nice. Sure.”

Changkyun frowned. “You better not be accepting those kinds of invitations from everyone!”


	28. food fight (yoonmin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence cw

Yoongi shuddered as he watched yet another man fall, pale fingers tightening around the metal bars that caged him in. Every second was a fight for survival, every moment balancing on the edge of a precipice. A click, and the bars began to shift upwards, opening the cell.

Yoongi threw himself forward, not even allowing his petrified opponent a moment to breathe before his fingers were wrapped in the man’s hair, pulling back and thrusting frontward to slam his face into the rough cement wall. The crack of his nose breaking brought Yoongi no satisfaction, other than that his victory over this slow person was practically guaranteed.

He’d been getting those a lot lately, the ones who had no survival instinct. He suspected that the pretty monster had something to do with it.

He heard several disappointed sighs, as the man crumpled just like all the others. He wondered why they kept him alive, if he always ended it too quickly for their liking.

“Mine,” a sweet voice said softly, and Yoongi glanced up to the stands of seating to lock eyes with the monster who’d chosen him for two weeks in a row. Yoongi frowned, returning back to his cell just as the door on the other side opened, revealing the same man. Yoongi was no longer surprised by how fast they could move, how strong they were, the depths of their cruelty.

He had the face of angel, but somehow that made looking at him practically unbearable.

“Come,” he said, smiling brightly. His clothes and skin were unblemished, but the blood under his fingernails was unmistakable. “If you have anything in here that you would like to save, take it with you.”

Yoongi hesitated, brow furrowing in uncertainty. “Take it with me?”

“You won’t be coming back,” the monster said sweetly.

Yoongi swallowed, looking around at the bare space stained with spatters of blood. There was only one possession he left in his cell, his broken watch. He quickly shoved it into his threadbare jean pocket. Unsure, he followed the small man from the room. It wasn’t like he would be able to run away.

They took the usual route to what he assumed was the man’s living quarters. They were lavishly furnished, and with surprisingly bright colors. Every surface was soft and pleasant to the touch. Small mercies when having one’s blood drained.

Yoongi went to take his usual position kneeling on the floor, on the cushion placed there for him, but the man stopped him with a light brush against his arm that gave him goosebumps. “No,” he said, “here.” He led Yoongi to the overstuffed couch and sat him on it, Yoongi feeling horribly confused by this turn of events.

Yoongi knew why they were made to fight. It was because the monsters enjoyed the taste of fear and adrenaline and endorphins in the blood. What Yoongi didn’t know was why this particular monster was infatuated with him.

“You’ll be staying here,” the man finally said, small hands settling in his lap. “With me, I mean.”

Yoongi frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I have fed from you so much that the others say you are beginning to smell like me,” the man said softly. “They will not feed from you. If I did not claim you, then you would be killed.”

Yoongi huffed in sordid amusement. “I don’t think I’d mind, at this point. Just get it over with, fuck.”

“You would rather die than stay here with me?” he said, voice hitching as his slim shoulders slumped inwards. “I have…I have mistreated you?”

Yoongi was genuinely confused by the monster’s words. What did it matter? Why did it care what Yoongi thought? “You’re…fine,” Yoongi said slowly. The blood-sucking was unpleasant, but he was always fed well and offered a shower. “But what does all of this mean? I don’t have to fight anymore?”

“Ah, no,” the monster said hurriedly, playing with his fingers. “I…no.” He began to gnaw at his bottom lip. “I tried…to send only the weak ones your way.”

“I don’t deserve to live any more than they deserved to die,” Yoongi said flatly.

The man’s shoulders tensed, and Yoongi was prepared for violence. But what followed was merely a dainty sigh slipping from plush lips. “You may sleep wherever you wish,” the man said softly. “Please don’t leave, or they will harm you.” He rose gracefully his feet, shuffling slowly towards what Yoongi knew to be his bedchamber.

The words were out before Yoongi could stop them. “You aren’t going to eat?” _Fuck. Fuck. Fucking stupid, idiot, dumbass—_

“I don’t want you to hate me, human,” the monster said, glancing over his shoulder. “They say the older you get, the sweeter it tastes. But hatred has always been bitter against my tongue. I am tired of tasting it within you. I will not feed tonight. Please rest well, human.”

“Yoongi.”

The monster blinked. “What did you say, human?”

“My name isn’t human, it’s Yoongi.”

“Ah,” the monster said, tilting his head to the side. “It is a pleasant name. I remember when I used to have one. I remember that it was…” the monster shook his head. “It was a very long time ago.”

“What, you guys don’t call each other by name?” Yoongi said.

“It is unnecessary,” the monster said. “The Old Ones took my name when I was changed. It is nothing but a black space in my memory. I know that I had one. I do not know what it was.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding, watching as the monster slipped silently into his bedchamber. To not even know your own name…

Toeing off his battered shoes, he pulled his entire body onto the couch, resting his cheek against a purple velvet pillow.

The monster’s face was entirely too dangerous.


	29. underneath the ice (yoonmin)

Jimin cradled his elbow close to his chest, stumbling to the locker room as the bone radiated with pain and his lacerated skin stung from the chill in the air. He shouldered the door open, bypassing the tall rows of lockers and instead angling towards the mirrors and sinks.

He released his pained arm in order to spin the warm water knob, sighing as his fingers left bloody stains on the shiny chrome. Hissing, he slowly extended his arm to rest under the faucet, the water clearing away some of the still-running blood, the warmth soothing. It had been a cold winter of achy bones and demanding performance.

It could have been worse. They didn’t have to stop at the push, they could have kept going. He was lucky.

He glanced up at the mirrors, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the pair of eyes that met his own. “Wh--?” Jimin jumped, spinning around to face the expressionless boy. “If you were here, why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Am I required to announce my presence?” the other said wryly, unlit cigarette dangling from thin pink lips.

Jimin frowned uncertainly, reaching absently up to pull a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and press them against his wound. “Who-who are you? You don’t dance here, do you?”

The man said nothing, eyes flicking to the blood seeping through the makeshift dressing.

“Because, umm…” Jimin said weakly. “This is the…the practice building and…you might get in trouble if someone finds you here.”

“Oh?” the man said, corners of his mouth curling upwards. “Why do you assume I’m not a pupil?”

“I just,” Jimin said, shifting uncomfortably. “I thought I knew everyone. There’s not that many of us.”

“Not that many of you handpicked to train and perform for the royal family, yes I know,” the man waved off, running a hand through messy bleached-white hair. “They take you away from your homes and your families and mount the insurmountable pressure of perfection on your shoulders. Lucky you,” he huffed.

Jimin narrowed his eyes, annoyed and in pain. “It’s a great honor to be chosen!”

“Whatever,” the man shrugged his slim shoulders. “Shouldn’t you get that looked at?”

Jimin blanched. “No, I…I can’t.”

“You can’t?” the man said skeptically.

“Because…” Jimin sighed, leaning against the sink. “You can’t perform if you aren’t perfect.”

“Do you think the royal fuckheads will enjoy your performance if you look like you’re in pain the whole time?” the man said nonchalantly. “You really think highly of them, don’t you?”

“Don’t say things like that!” Jimin said, wild eyed as he looked around quickly. “You’ll get in trouble!”

“You gonna’ tell on me?” the man smiled around the cigarette, finally removing it and flicking it to the ground.  “Report me to the secret police?”

Jimin shook his head slowly, eyes dropping to the floor. He ducked his head, turning to leave.

He could feel the man’s cold gaze follow him from the room.

Jimin swallowed as he re-entered the practice room, avoiding eye contact as a few others stopped what they were doing to mark his progress. He tried to ignore them, stopping in his usual corner and beginning to stretch. The blood had clotted into the beginnings of a scab, and it wasn’t bad enough to quit practicing.

He had just begun to build up a sweat when the doors swung open, a dozen or so people entering the room with a commotion and fanfare. Most were dressed in dark suits, with sunglasses tucked into pockets.

Three men in particular were dressed extravagantly, with masks covering the lower halves of their faces. The dancers and instructors immediately dropped to their knees, Jimin included, not daring to stand in the presence of royalty.

“I come to check the progress of my artists, but instead they fall to the ground,” the masked man in the middle said, amused. “This will make dancing quite difficult.”

The man to his left inspected the people in the room, tilting his head to peer at bowed faces. “Where did they find these people, a factory? Hyung has good taste.”

The third said nothing, seemingly uninterested.

The man who had first spoken began to weave among the kneeling people, a large percentage of the room trembling at his approach. One word, and he could end not only their dreams, but their lives.

Jimin’s breathing grew erratic as black boots appeared in his peripheral vision, but he kept his eyes stuck to the floor. The boots stopped in front of him, and Jimin felt his heart stutter. “You’re injured,” the man said. Jimin noticed the small pool of blood dripping from his arm, smeared where he’d been pressing it to the floor. Jimin quickly pushed his forehead to the ground in apology, shaking violently. “Hey, no, you’ll make it worse,” the man said.

Jimin didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to act. He wasn’t sure he was breathing.

Jimin wanted to die as he felt a hand around his uninjured arm, pulling him harshly to his feet. It was the second man who had spoken, now staring intently at Jimin’s face. “A factory, I swear,” he muttered.

Jimin felt faint, desperately keeping his gaze focused downwards.

Jimin was pulled away from the second man by the third, the one who hadn’t spoken. “Come,” he said, voice rough and cold. Jimin could do nothing but obey, the room deathly silent as he was lead, trembling, outside of it.

Jimin’s breath hitched as the man brought him down the hallway towards the entrance, a few others in suits trailing behind them. Was he being kicked out already? “P-please,” he managed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall, but—but I’ll do better, I swear—“

“Begging is ugly on a person like you,” the cold voice said, and Jimin instinctively raised his head to look. He recognized those eyes. “This royal fuckhead’s going to drive you to the doctor, you need stitches.”

Jimin opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I…yelled at a member of the royal family?” Jimin whispered.

“You yelled at the _worst_ member of the royal family,” the man corrected, slipping the mask off. “Lucky you.”


	30. Lost my way (Vmin)

Taehyung would have blamed it on Jimin, if only it weren’t for the fact that he could never blame Jimin for anything.

Really, it was everyone else’s fault for not appreciating the gift that was his best friend. And maybe, somewhere, it was a little of his own. For not giving him what he needed. For not being enough. For being too much.

It had been forty-five days since Taehyung had seen Jimin. Forty-five days since that desperate look haunting his eyes and the bruise on his left cheekbone. Since he had begged for help with every fiber of his being, even if not with his words. Since Taehyung had been a coward and pretended everything was alright.

Finally, he’d caught the tail end of a lead.

Someone had seen Jimin entering an apartment complex in Gangnam. At first, Taehyung hadn’t believed it. Jimin wouldn’t have been able to afford something like that, and otherwise he had no reason to be there. But something tugged at his gut, and a bribe to building’s security guard showed Jimin, plain as day, in the CCTV cameras. Taehyung wasted no time in checking the elevator cameras to find out what floor he ultimately stopped on.

And so there he stood, hand poised over the doorbell. The dark wood of the apartment door was practically shining, obviously expensive. Would Jimin even answer him? What was Jimin doing in such an expensive building? But he couldn’t afford to keep being a coward. Jimin couldn’t afford it. He pressed the button.

After a few moments of nothing, he sighed. “Jimin? It’s me, it’s Taehyung. I know you’re in there, Jimin. I just want to talk.” He rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Jimin, please. Answer the door.”

He heard the unlatching of a lock and the slide of a deadbolt, heart jumping with hope as the door was cracked an inch.

“What do you want, Tae?” Jimin rasped, voice rough as though he had a sore throat. “How did you find me?”

“I…” Taehyung swallowed, suddenly unsure. “I just wanted…to make sure that you were okay. You haven’t answered any of my calls—”

“I lost my phone,” Jimin said.

“And what are you even doing here?” Taehyung said, more forcefully. “What the fuck, Jimin? You can’t just _disappear_ like that—"

“Go away,” Jimin said quietly, pushing the door shut, but Taehyung already had his foot wedged in the small space, forcing it back.

“No way!” Taehyung said, surging forward and driving Jimin back as he entered the apartment. “I’m not letting you push me away this time!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Jimin hissed, voice breaking intermittently from strain. “You can’t just barge into someone’s house!”

“Whose house, Jimin?” Taehyung demanded. “Yours?”

“So what if it is?” Jimin said, small hands pushing at Taehyung’s chest.

“So where the fuck did you get that kind of money?” Taehyung growled, not budging an inch.

Jimin dropped his hands and began moving into the large living room. “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave!”

“I thought you lost your phone?”

“I bought a new one.”

“Park Jimin!” Taehyung said, catching up to Jimin and wrapping an arm around his bicep, turning him around. In the bright lighting of the room, Jimin looked paler, dark shadows inset under his eyes. He’d lost weight, his already thin frame practically skeletal. “What…what is going on?” Taehyung pleaded softly. “Please, just talk to me. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Jimin said softly. “I don’t need _you_.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung said. “This isn’t you. This isn’t…are you in trouble? Is something wrong? Is someone threatening you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jimin said, wrenching his arm out of Taehyung’s grip. Taehyung caught the wince that the motion caused.

Before Jimin could protest, Taehyung had a hold of his arm again, pulling up the sleeve. His eyes widened at the rainbow of puncture marks and scars marring his skin. “You’re _using_?” Taehyung said incredulously.

“Mind your own fucking business!” Jimin said, pulling his arm away again.

“Jimin, what the _fuck_?” Taehyung said angrily. “Why would you touch that shit!?”

Jimin’s breath hitched. “Just go away.”

“I won’t!” Taehyung said, lunging forward and wrapping Jimin in a bone-crushing hug. “I won’t go away! I’ll always be here, so stop running away from me!”

“Taehyung,” Jimin whispered, lips brushing Taehyung’s neck. “ _Help me_.”

A cough startled the both of them apart. “Jimin-ah, who is this?”

“H-hyung,” Jimin said, panic clear in his eyes. “I didn’t hear you c-come in.”

“I can see that,” the man said, smile putting Taehyung on edge.

“This is…a friend from school. He just, he was worried about me because I-I lost my phone, you know, and I wasn’t answering his messages. I didn’t…I didn’t tell him where I was, he just showed up, I swear—”

“I believe you, Jimin,” the man said, still smiling. “I know you aren’t stupid enough to do something without permission.”

Taehyung snapped. “Who the fuck are you to tell Jimin to do anything?”

The man’s bright eyes turned cold. “I don’t have to answer to you. Leave my property immediately.”

Taehyung didn’t know if he was referring to the apartment or to Jimin. Either way, he didn’t have a real leg to stand on. “Jimin,” Taehyung said, reaching out for him, only to watch as he backed away. “Jimin, come with me. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I told you to leave, Taehyung,” Jimin said softly.

Taehyung hadn’t imagined the desperation in Jimin’s voice before the man showed up. “Okay,” Taehyung nodded. “I’ll go,” he said. But he would be back.


	31. where does it hurt (yoonmin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: anxiety

He didn’t bother looking up from the chart he had in his hands. There were fifty other people waiting in line, and niceties were only for slow days and children under the age of five.

“I’m Doctor Min. Where does it hurt?” Yoongi said monotonously, eyes flicking over medical history and the vitals scrawled by the nurse who’d been in the room previously. Her handwriting was shit, but Yoongi’s was worse, so he was in no place to judge.

“Umm,” a male voice said, _young_ , and Yoongi deigned to peer at the patient in front of him. “Min…Yoongi?”

Yoongi blinked. Looked closer.

Small, thin frame. Dyed pastel hair. Full lips, one busted. Small straight nose. Narrow, lined eyes. Threadbare clothes. “Do I know you?”

The small man blushed, from his neck to his hairline. “We…went to the same high school. It doesn’t matter.”

Yoongi frowned, racking his memory. His eyes settled on “Patient Name: Park Ji Min.” Still, nothing. “So what’s the problem?” Yoongi asked instead, quickly falling back into business mode.

“I, umm, I’m not sure?” Park Jimin began.

“Helpful,” Yoongi said.

“No, I…” the man sighed.

“You’re in an emergency care center, you better not be wasting my time with hypochondria,” Yoongi said sternly.

“I’m…I’m really not, I…” the man struggled. “I thought I broke my tailbone. I, umm, I dance, and I fell down a few weeks ago.” Yoongi was already predicting the request for painkillers, but the man continued talking.  “But then it got better. Only, umm, I have problems walking now. I get really dizzy all of a sudden, and I have to sit down, or I fall over. I wasn’t sure if it was something else that happened when I fell down. Either way, I dance for a living, and walking is kind of important.”

“Let’s see,” Yoongi said, pulling his pen light from his pocket and testing Jimin’s pupils. Both reactive and the same size. “Are you taking any medications?”

Jimin nodded, eyes downcast. “For my, umm…anxiety,” he admitted, shoulders slumping.

“Are those recent?” Yoongi questioned.

“I…guess so? It’s been a few months, definitely before I hurt myself. They weren’t causing problems before, would they just start suddenly?”

“Medicine is a funny thing,” Yoongi said. “Sometimes side effects don’t show up for a while, or our bodies stop responding how they’re supposed to. Vertigo or dizziness are actually fairly common symptoms for anxiety meds. Either because the meds cause it, or the anxiety does. I’m not saying it’s a sure thing, but it’s something to consider.”

“Can you fix it?” Jimin asked, eyes suddenly looking wet.

“Well, a lot of the time, your brain will adapt, and it’ll go away on its own,” Yoongi mused. “Otherwise, I can recommend some anti-nausea medicine—”

“But that…” Jimin said desperately. “That won’t stop it from happening, will it?”

Yoongi hesitated, a memory pressing against the backs of his eyes. _But that won’t stop them from hating me, will it?_ “I can recommend different meds to try, if that’s something you’re willing to do.”

“It took forever for me to find these ones that actually work,” Jimin mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a long sleeve.

Yoongi flipped through his chart, hiding his grimace at the laundry list of anxiety and depression meds in his records. A few were marked to indicate the presence of suicidal thoughts as a side effect in the patient. Jimin. “I think there are still a few you haven’t tried yet,” Yoongi mused. “Just to be sure, we should get you an MRI to make sure there’s nothing abnormal in your head.”

“I don’t,” Jimin said, chewing on his lip, “…have any money.”

“I’ll write you a referral to the free clinic,” Yoongi assured. “Get yourself checked out there. If things seem normal, then we can try changing your medication.”

“But I don’t have time for that!” Jimin said. “I…my show is in a week! And I can’t afford to not know if I’m going to just keep falling over! I can’t live like this!” He gasped, hand pressing against his chest as he struggled for breath.

Yoongi dropped the chart, approaching Jimin where he sat on the examination chair. “Park Jimin, you need to breathe. You’re having an anxiety attack. Jimin, Jimin listen to me. Come on, Jimin. Close your eyes. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.” He reached for Jimin’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Breathe with me, Jimin. In. Out. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” _A small body curled up in a corner stall, shaking and fighting back noises. People laughing. Yoongi standing on the fringes of a crowd, determined to mind his own business. Dried blood flaking against the sides of a porcelain sink._

Jimin’s hand finally squeezed back, short nails digging into Yoongi’s skin. “I…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have talk. Give yourself a second.”

Park Jimin.

_Bloody arms, bright smile, sad eyes._

Yoongi remembered.


	32. You're more important (YoonSeok)

Hoseok breathed in uneven gasps, legs pained and lungs burning as he sprinted, shoes scraping against pavement. If he was late one more time, he was fucked. The professor already had it out for him, and thank fuck grading was blind, but she still had the power to kick him out and stop him from learning anything.

Hoseok blinked, suddenly staring up at the cloudy sky as his hip exploded with acute pain and gravel dug into his back. “Fuck,” he wheezed, staying still despite his first instinct to move.

The sound of a car door opening and closing caught Hoseok’s attention. Ah, so that’s what happened. “What the fuck?” another voice said, somehow raspy and nasal at the same time. “What the—fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m alive,” Hoseok coughed, tensing his muscle groups to test for pain, slowly rotating his neck, and flexing his fingers. He didn’t feel dizzy, just shocked, so he doubted a concussion. The only thing that really hurt was his right hip, which must have been the point of impact.

Hoseok heaved himself into a sitting position as pale, thin fingers moved to help him. “You can’t just run into the road, you moron!” the man said, carefully brushing debris from the back of Hoseok’s shirt.

“I’m,” Hoseok swallowed, heart beginning to race at the implications of what could have happened, “sorry, I…I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and—Shit, I’m such an idiot.”

“Fuck, it’s fine,” the man said, a disgruntled expression on an otherwise surprisingly sweet face. He was dressed to the nines, in a nice suit and tie and everything, even as he kneeled in the dirt without care. “My car isn’t even dented, but you don’t look so good.”

Hoseok’s eyes wandered to the machine that had hit him, a bright red sports car that Hoseok doubted he would ever have enough money to repair.

“No, I just…” Hoseok breathed, wincing as he tried to adjust his position.

The man’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? What is it? What the fuck?”

Hoseok couldn’t help the snort of amusement at his repeated use of the word. “I just, I think I just bruised my hip. Nothing major,” he said.

“You’re not a doctor, you don’t know that!” the man said, ignoring his phone as it buzzed in his pocket.

“I am actually a doctor-in-training, though. Well. I was. Considering I’m now officially late for class, I’m not confident about that status anymore,” he sighed. “Ah, well. There’s always Broadway.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “I ran over a crazy person, didn’t I.”

“I’m a med student!” Hoseok said, affronted. Then paused. “So, yeah, actually, you’re probably right.”

“And I’m Kanye West,” the other man rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I don’t care. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“You really don’t need to do that, Mr. Kanye,” Hoseok said, pressing gingerly at his hip. “I don’t think it’s broken.” He glanced over at the thin, well-dressed man. “Besides, it looks like you were headed somewhere important.”

The man glanced down at his clothes, small nose wrinkling in a cute show of distaste. “It’s really not that important. My parents are trying to sell me off to the highest bidder. If I take you to the hospital, then I at least have a good excuse to bail.”

“You’re serious?” Hoseok said, accepting the man’s soft hand and climbing slowly to his feet. He wobbled for a moment before regaining his stability.

“It’s a little too outlandish to be a lie, don’t you think?” the man said wryly, watching him closely.

“Eh, med students are sociopaths, so I’ve heard weirder lies,” Hoseok laughed. “Sucks for you though, Kanye. Sorry about that. Really.”

The man made a face. “Why the fuck are you laughing when I just ran you over?”

“Geeze, I didn’t know there was a rulebook that said no laughing after a non-fatal injury? Besides, that’s what endorphins are for! A little bit of pain, a little feeling high. It all balances out. The circle of life, my friend.”

“Whatever,” the other sighed. “Get in the car.”

Hoseok limped his way to the passenger seat, thanking chemistry for putting him in such high spirits when he was now doomed for all eternity. Ah, but maybe not if he actually did get a doctor’s note? Maybe the accident was really the best thing that could have happened.

“Your smiling is freaking me out,” the man muttered, the engine purring as he turned the ignition key.

“Who hurt you, Kanye?” Hoseok said mock sympathetically, pressing his hand over his heart.

“Shut up,” the man muttered, pale cheeks flushing. “My name is Yoongi, not fucking Kanye.”

“You _lied_ to me?” Hoseok gasped dramatically. “I honestly don’t know if I’m ever going to recover from this stunning blow.”

The man rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips were upturned into a small smile. Score. “Are you…really a med student?” the man questioned.

Hoseok nodded enthusiastically. “Pediatrics is what I’m hoping to do! I just, you know, have to pass things first. It’s harder than it sounds. I kinda’ want to die sometimes. But I do it for the kids!”

The man’s smooth brow furrowed. “Why would you do something that makes you want to die?”

“Because it’s worth it,” Hoseok said immediately, expression softening. “It’s worth it.”

“I see,” the man said slowly, pursing his thin lips as he considered Hoseok’s words.  

“I’m the future Doctor Jung Hoseok, by the way,” Hoseok said, offering him a smile.

“The future Doctor Jung Hoseok,” the man repeated. “Sorry for running you over.”


	33. A Walk to Remember (yoonmin)

Jimin woke, eyes shooting open with a gasp and hand reflexively launching towards his opposite shoulder, which sang with crippling pain. Breathing heavily, Jimin glanced down at the offending shoulder, shocked when stark red and darker rust-colored flakes began to stain his fingers.

Jimin whimpered, clutching tighter to his pained arm as his eyes combed his surroundings. Undisturbed earth and foliage, thick tree trunks, the sound of running water. Where…

He thought, and he thought, and he thought, but his mind was nothing but a fog of confusion. He was Jimin, he was…but that’s all. That’s all he could remember. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

The pain and panic brought tears to his eyes as he struggled to stand, using one of the trunks as leverage and hissing in pain as his shoulder jostled. Think. _Think._

He snapped his head up at the sound of shouting, at least a few people crying out loudly in the wilderness. “Jimin!? Park Jimin, are you out here!? Jimin!?”

“I’m…” Jimin tried, coughing when his voice tried to work its way out of his dry throat. “I’m here! Hello? I’m over here!”

The snapping of branches underfoot grew louder as boots rushed towards his direction. Jimin screamed in pain as a muscled body threw itself at him, arms squeezing tightly. “Thank fuck, Jimin! Oh, thank goodness. Thank goodness,” the person muttered repeatedly. “We finally found you!”

“Hurts,” Jimin managed to rasp, and the person pulled back quickly, looking him over, eyes widening as they caught sight of the wound.

“Oh, what happened!?” the man fretted. “Jimin, oh no! What…what have you done to yourself?”

“I don’t…remember…” Jimin said, shaking his head uncertainly. “Do we…do we know each other?”

The man froze just as a few more figures appeared through the foliage. “Jimin!” “Hyung!”

“He’s injured!” the first man that had found him said to the other two. “Jimin, what do you mean, ‘do we know each other’? Is that some kind of joke? I’m your boyfriend!”

Jimin’s eyes watered again as he shook his head helplessly. “I don’t…I don’t know you. I woke up here, and I…” his voice broke. “What’s going on?”

“Traumatic memory loss?” One of the two who had appeared said. “He _has_ been out here for a week, at least, Hoseok. That would mess anyone up.” He was the tallest of the three, with broad shoulders and a deep voice. He approached Jimin, who shied away from him. Slowing his movement, he raised his hands and gently examined Jimin’s shoulder wound. “Fuck,” the man said.

“What is it, Joon?” the one called Hoseok said worriedly.

Yet another figure appeared in the clearing, startling the already panicked Jimin.  “Oh good, you found the brat.”

“Yoongi hyung!” Hoseok hissed. “He has fucking amnesia!”

“And a gunshot wound,” the tall man said quietly.

“What!?” Hoseok shrieked.

Jimin curled in on himself, overwhelmed and unsure of how to respond to all of these people who seemed to recognize him, but of whom he had no memory. No matter how hard he concentrated, none of the faces appeared in his mind.

“It looks like he caught some buckshot,” Joon muttered. “Maybe it was a freak hunting accident? He’s fucking lucky it was only a few pellets, or he’d be a goner.”

“What do you mean, amnesia?” Yoongi demanded. “Are you serious? Park Jimin, you better not be fucking with us again, or I’m going to kill you.”

“I…” Jimin whimpered. “I s-swear, I don’t know who you are!”

They all seemed taken aback. “Since when was Jimin hyung that meek?” the one whose name Jimin hadn’t heard yet whispered.

Yoongi frowned. “What the fuck.”

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Joon said. “Do you think you can walk, Jimin?”

“I c-can try,” Jimin said timidly.

“Wait!” Yoongi demanded. “If you have amnesia, then how do you know your fucking name? I knew you were faking it, you little bi—”

A loud slap echoed through the trees. “Not one more word, hyung!” Hoseok seethed. “I don’t have time for your bullshit! Jimin got _shot_ and you’re more worried about calling him names? Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

Yoongi looked stunned, hand lifting to press against his reddening cheek.

“Come on,” Hoseok said, expression softening as he turned to help Jimin move, gently grasping his elbow. “Let’s get you home, okay, Minnie?”

Jimin felt Yoongi’s cold gaze on his trembling back as they made their way through the woods. Jimin couldn’t tell which direction they were going, but they seemed to have a destination in mind.

“Yah, Park Jimin!” Yoongi growled.

Jimin tensed, swallowing a whimper. “Y-yes?” he stuttered, heart skipping a beat.

“What happened to you? Why did you run away from the fucking campsite?”

Jimin swallowed, wetting this throat. “I don’t know, I…I don’t remember. It’s all just…” he struggled. “It’s all like a big black hole. There’s nothing there. Only…only my name,” he finished softly.

“Wow,” the nameless one whistled. “It’s like you’re a completely different person, hyung!”

“Wh…what do you mean?” Jimin said, dreading the answer.

“The normal Jimin would have thrown like twelve bitch fits by now,” Yoongi supplied helpfully.

Jimin winced and Hoseok scowled. “I-I d-don’t…” Jimin stuttered.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Hoseok said softly, carefully running long fingers through Jimin’s matted, dirty hair. “We’ll get you to a doctor, and you’ll be back to your usual self in no time.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like this version,” Yoongi mused.

“Go fuck yourself, hyung.”

**Author's Note:**

> freebullets.tumblr.com


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